We Survived the Apocalypse
by Amy-Violet
Summary: Sam tries to fix a mistake he made when he lied to Blaine. Some things can be undone, and some things can't.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have no idea if I'll be able to keep two multi-chapter projects going at once. But I guess I'll find out.**

Crap. Why did Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury have to get married _right now_? Like, seriously, they couldn't have waited a day? Way to upstage the glee club's win at regionals, guys!

But no, the upstaging wasn't what bothered Sam the most. It wasn't what bothered Sam at all, actually. What bothered him was that Blaine already had marriage on the brain, and this stupid surprise wedding stunt was probably going to push him to propose to Kurt tonight. Like, immediately. And Kurt might be so swept away by the drama and the romance that he might just say yes.

Sam had been planning to say something to Blaine for a while now. And then when Blaine told him about his idiotic plan and refused to be talked out of it—when he even went and bought a ring, for Christ's sake—Sam realized he was running out of time. But now...now he was out of time. He had to talk to Blaine before he got a chance to be alone with Kurt. Or...no, he couldn't let Blaine talk to Kurt at all. It would be just like him to think a proposal in front of the whole glee club would be romantic. Maybe he would even think it would increase the likelihood of Kurt's accepting.

But obviously it was just a terrible, lose-lose plan no matter how you looked at it. If Kurt turned him down in front of everybody, Blaine would be crushed and humiliated. And if he didn't turn him down...then Blaine would marry Kurt.

This really sucked. He had nothing set up yet. It was all set up in his head—why the hell hadn't he started preparing yet? Because he thought he had time.

How rude would it be to sneak out now, in the middle of the ceremony? Pretty fucking rude, right? Maybe no one would notice because they were all watching the bride and groom? But, shit, even if that were likely, he had to keep an eye on Blaine, and there's no way he could convince Blaine to sneak out with him now.

Okay, just stay calm. He could grab Blaine the second the I-do's and whatnot were over. Blaine was standing right across from him, and not next to Kurt, thank God. This could still work. No, it _would _work, damn it. He would drag Blaine away by force if necessary. He couldn't force Blaine to not propose to Kurt, and he couldn't force him to give Sam a chance, but he could force him to listen at least.

He had realized he was falling for Blaine since...well, since he started that brief but memorable macaroni art kick. That had started while he was visiting his family in Kentucky one weekend, and Stacey showed him a macaroni art project she'd done at school. She was so excited and proud of it, but then Stevie said it was stupid. So to defend his little sister, he started doing a portrait to show that it wasn't stupid.

And he wasn't too far into the portrait when he began to recognize that it looked like Kurt. Why the hell was he making a portrait of Kurt? he wondered. His mother asked him the same thing a little while later, when she recognized it. "Oh, I thought it would be a nice gift for Mr. Hummel—you know, for letting me live at his house and everything," he said. But that wasn't it. It was probably just because he had been thinking about Kurt a lot lately.

It was when he asked himself _why_ he'd been thinking about Kurt so much that the pieces started to fall into place. It had to be related to Blaine somehow, since he only ever thought of Kurt in relation to Blaine. Well, or when he came up in conversation at the Hudson-Hummels', which was only natural, but even then when someone said "Kurt" he immediately thought "Blaine." Blaine's ex.

He wasn't sure Blaine saw him as an ex, though. He seemed to see their relationship as on-again, off-again...possibly soon to be on-again again. (This suspicion on Sam's part obviously being confirmed by the proposal plan.) And this bothered Sam because...

Because Kurt and Blaine weren't meant for each other.

Because Blaine could do better.

Because Blaine could do...

Because Blaine could do Sam. Blaine could be _with_ Sam.

He'd known for a while—for almost the whole year—that Blaine had a crush on him, that Blaine wanted to do him. It didn't really freak him out. It didn't even freak him out that much when thoughts would pop into his head about specific things Blaine might want to do to him, or have done by him. But if he was being honest with himself, which he was trying to do now, he'd have to admit that the occasional fleeting thoughts had turned a lot more frequent and...intense...as the year had gone on and their friendship had grown.

And the one thing that was holding him back from saying something to Blaine was that he didn't know if he was still in love with Kurt. Wait, no. Being honest. It wasn't the only thing holding him back. He was probably, on some level, still a little freaked out about being attracted to a dude. And maybe if he didn't do anything about it, it would just pass. So Kurt was a concern, but more than that, he was an excuse.

But how much of an actual threat was he?

Sam couldn't be sure. While he was mulling it over and working on the macaroni portrait, an idea occurred to him: He would show Blaine the portrait. Maybe his reaction would give something away.

It seemed like a brilliant idea to him at the time. But the more time he had to think about it, the dumber it seemed. Plus, Blaine would probably think it was weird that Sam had done a portrait—out of pasta, of all things—of his ex. (Yeah, ex.) Maybe he'd get the wrong idea and think that Sam somehow had a crush on _Kurt_.

So he had to make some more portraits—that would seem less weird. Blaine sprang to mind as his next potential subject. But then he thought that the two portraits, Blaine and Kurt, side by side, might give Blaine an even worse idea, namely, that Sam wanted to see them back together. So, no. Definitely not Blaine. No one else from real life really came to mind, so he ended up doing some random celebrities. Maybe he could sell them on eBay or something later.

He wished, now, that he had made one of Brittany. She would have appreciated it more than anyone—in many ways she got him more than anyone else. Plus she had been so awesome during this whole thing. She knew—Brittany was the only person Sam had told about his crush. It might seem like she would be the last person he would want to know, but...

Not a lot of people really got Brittany. Santana maybe. She hadn't tried to hide the fact that she was still in love with Santana while she was going out with Sam. It bothered him at first, as it would bother most guys. But he was in love with her, or he thought he was, so he was willing to give her time to get over Santana. He thought their Mayan apocalypse wedding would help.

It did help, but not in the way he expected. When the world didn't end and he still thought he was married to Brittany, he realized he wasn't actually in love with her, not the way he thought. He still loved her. But it was more like the way she loved him.

The minister was pronouncing Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury husband and wife. Sam hadn't been paying much attention—he actually thought he heard the guy call them "Wemma"—but now he had to focus. How the hell did it happen that Blaine was standing next to Kurt now? So he couldn't lose a single second. Everyone started clapping and Sam dashed over to Blaine.

"I need you to come with me right now!" Sam was whispering but emphatic.

"Sam...this isn't really a good time." Blaine glanced at Kurt, and...fuck, what was he hiding behind his back? It was the ring, it had to be the fucking ring.

"It has to be now. Trust me."

Blaine hesitated, glancing at Kurt, then at Sam, then back to Kurt.

"Blaine." Sam put his hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. "I am being one hundred percent serious that you have to come with me right this minute. There is an extremely urgent Nightbird and Blond Chameleon mission that can't wait a single second."

Blaine seemed to be relenting. But he looked anxiously at his ex and protested, "But Kurt..."

Sam took Blaine by the hand and dragged across the room. "Tina, Blaine needs your help. Do not let Kurt leave this room under any circumstances. Tackle him if you need to."

"Okay?"

"No, don't say it like a question. If you can't promise I'll get Santana."

"All right, I promise. What—"

"Satisfied?" Sam asked Blaine. But he didn't wait for an answer before he pulled him into the hall and dragged him to the locker room.

"Okay, Sam. I'm coming with you. Now what's the mission that couldn't wait five minutes?"

"I can't tell you yet. I have to show you. But first we have to get in the time machine."

"Time machine!? Sam..." Blaine tried to pull away.

Sam just kept pulling him and didn't respond until they were inside the locker room, when he looked into Blaine's eyes again. "I know you trust me. So you know I wouldn't tell you this was important if it wasn't. Please don't run when I let go of your hand."

Sam let go; Blaine didn't try to leave, and he didn't say anything else about Kurt. He just looked at questioningly at Sam, who was busy building a sort of fort around him out of gym mats. "Is this the time machine?" he asked.

"Sorry it's so sloppy. I didn't have time to prepare in advance."

When Sam had finished constructing a four-walled structure of sorts he stood inside it with Blaine. He pushed some invisible buttons—not the actual mats, which would fall down—and went, "Beep beep boop boop beep."

"Where are we going, Blond Chameleon? Future or past?"

"Past. But only a few weeks. We have to...I have to fix something." He knocked down the walls of the time machine and went, "Psssh!" It was supposed to be a landing noise, or maybe a door-opening noise. "Here we are. Now, you say all the things you actually said, and I'll say the things I _should_ have said the first time. Uh, we have to be our alter-egos, Blaine and Sam."

Blaine looked around. "I think it's safe to do that."

"Okay." Sam was nervous, but he'd gone too far to back out now. "So I'll start: Dude, put some pants on, I have to talk to you. I know you actually have pants on now, but just go with it."

Blaine mimed putting pants on and followed Sam to a more secluded part of the locker room.

"So, lately I've been fighting with a...not a sense of shame, but I guess a sense of confusion about something in my life. Okay, maybe it was a little bit of shame at first, but it's not now. And I've been waiting to let it out."

Blaine stared at him, apparently uncomprehendingly.

"Don't you remember what you said?"

"N-no. I don't think—"

"You asked if I had feelings for you."

"Oh. Right. That was really out of line—"

"Ask me again."

"Sam, it was so humiliating that I even asked you that once. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. Don't make me go through it again."

"Ask me again. Please. I need to give you the answer I was too big a pussy to give you the first time."

Blaine took a deep breath. "Do you..." Sam didn't think he was ever going to say it. But he did, eventually, very softly. "Do you have feelings for me?"

"Yes."


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine couldn't have heard that right. Sam had spoken clearly, but it didn't make any sense. "Yes?"

"Yes," Sam repeated.

He looked so serious; he couldn't be just fucking with him. Maybe Blaine didn't ask the question right. "I asked...I thought the question you wanted me to ask was whether you, Sam Evans, have feelings for me, Blaine Anderson."

"Yes." Sam never broke their eye contact. "Yes, that was the question I wanted you to ask, and yes, my answer is that yes, I do have feelings for you."

They obviously were not talking about the same thing. "And by 'feelings' I meant...when I first asked you that question, I didn't mean just friendly feelings. Or like bro feelings. I meant..." How in the world could he say it?

"Romantic feelings?" Sam asked. "Sexual feelings?"

Blaine backed up against a locker and dropped his head. "Yeah, that's what I meant. And I'm so sorry I ever asked—"

"Stop." Sam placed his hand under Blaine's chin and gently lifted his head. "Don't apologize. I'm sorry I denied it. It's the only time I've ever lied to you."

"So...what you're saying to me is..."

"I don't know how to say it more clearly. If I didn't want to freak you out—"

"Ha! Too late."

"I like you romantically and I like you sexually. I want to be your boyfriend. I want to make out with you and...other stuff...eventually." Blaine didn't respond, and Sam added, "By eventually I mean hopefully not too long. But no pressure or anything."

Sam may as well have been speaking Na'vi. Blaine just stared at him stupidly, no idea what he was talking about.

Then Sam was right in front of him—really, really close in front of him—and had his hands on his shoulders. He was shaking his head. "They got you really bad, Nightbird. You're under the Spell of Not Understanding Plain English. I'm afraid there's only one cure." Sam pulled a tube of Chapstick out of his pocket. "And there's only one way to administer it." He took the cap off and generously applied the stuff to his own lips. Blaine stood, motionless, watching. He had been so in love with those lips, once. Sam leaned forward, his lips approaching Blaine's...

Blaine pushed him back and jumped out of the way. "You tried to kiss me!"

"Your comprehension skills are returning," Sam said, grinning. "This is good."

"No! No, it's not good at all! I used to have feelings for you. I got over them. I worked really hard to get over them. And now you just...Well, you can't." He ran to the door.

He heard Sam yell after him, "But that's why I built the time machine!" Blaine didn't turn around, didn't tell him that this superhero stuff may have been fun once, but it was time to grow up. They weren't kids anymore. Blaine was ready to get _married_. He picked up his pace and ran back to the choir room. Hopefully Kurt was still there.

Kurt...dear God, Tina was sitting on Kurt's lap. Mike looked confused and not a little worried. Kurt looked terrified.

"Hey, Tay-Tay. Mind if I borrow Kurt for a minute?"

"Blaine!" she said, with obvious relief. "Please, be my guest." Blaine mouthed the words "thank you" to her as she stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked over to Mike.

Blaine led Kurt to a quiet corner of the room. "Thank you for rescuing me," Kurt said. "Tina's a doll, but she really has to do something about those hag tendencies."

"No, don't blame Tina. I asked her not to let you leave." Sam was the one who asked her, actually, but Blaine felt it was better not to mention this. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh? What is it?"

"I..." He'd been ready, he'd had it all planned out. After Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury kissed (Mrs. Schue? He didn't know whether she was changing her name) and while everyone was still gathered around clapping, he was going to drop to one knee, take Kurt's hand, and...

But then Sam had...

And now the moment was ruined. They were standing off in a corner; you can't propose to someone in a corner. Besides, half the group was gone already, and the ones who weren't were grouped up in twos and threes, not paying attention to anyone else.

Tina and Mike walked over with their coats on. "Are you guys going to Breadstix? Wanna go in one car?"

"Yes," Blaine said, maybe a little more enthusiastically than the suggestion warranted. "You're going, right?" he said to Kurt. "We can talk there."

Blaine insisted on driving. Tina's dad's car was bigger, but Blaine could still fit four people in his pretty easily. And Kurt wouldn't try to talk to him too much if he was driving. He needed a few minutes to reassess his strategy.

God damn Sam.

After all this time.

Maybe it hadn't actually been that long, objectively. It really had only been a few weeks since the...the conversation in the locker room that Sam now suddenly wanted a do-over on. But it felt like forever. Forever that he'd been obsessing over his straight best friend—forever that he'd been trying to _stop_ obsessing over his straight best friend. And he finally had. He had finally realized that he needed to be with someone capable of loving him back. That Kurt had loved him back once and could again.

Besides, Sam had his fucking chance to confess his "feelings" or whatever. His "feelings" that were probably nothing more than curiosity, in fact. Maybe Blaine would have helped him with his curiosity at one time. But Sam had his chance and he fucking blew it.

Not that the irony was lost on Blaine. The fact that he was about to ask Kurt to give him a second chance after he had blown it much, much worse than Sam had. What Sam did wasn't really _that_ bad, after all. He lied, but it wasn't like Blaine thought he did it maliciously. He wasn't even sure he'd call it a "lie."

He couldn't really be mad at Sam for fucking up. He was more sad than angry. Sam's timing was just really, really bad. If only he'd said something before Blaine decided to...

"Uh, Blaine?" Tina snapped him out of his thoughts. "You just drove past the restaurant."

"Sorry." Blaine did a quick U-turn, almost colliding with another car. "Sorry again."

Everyone inside was standing around in front of the hostess stand. Apparently the wait staff were still pulling tables together. They should have made reservations.

Brittany accosted him with a giant hug. "Brittany!" He hugged her back. "Congratulations again on MIT. I'll really miss you."

"No, I already said my good-byes. That's not what this is about."

"Then what's it about?"

"It's because I want you to be happy."

"Oh. Thanks. I want you to be happy, too."

"Of course I'll be happy," she said. "Duh."

The tables were ready now and the group was led to them. Blaine failed to get seated next to Kurt, but that was okay; it was probably better, in fact. In the state of mind he was in now...Well, he would need to psych himself up again before he could even think of proposing. At least Sam wasn't there to distract...

Crap. There he was. Flushed and sweaty and fucking gorgeous. Did he run here or something? Oh yeah, shit. Blaine had been his ride to the school earlier in the day. That was a really long time ago.

Sam wedged himself in between Jake and Ryder at the far end of the line of tables. Good. Hopefully he'd have the decency to just leave Blaine alone.

He glanced over occasionally, just to make sure Sam wasn't looking at him. He wasn't. He was...what the hell? He was joking around. As if nothing had happened. He really had a lot of damn gall. To just turn Blaine's world upside down and then, when he didn't get what he wanted, just carry on like it was no big deal.

Well, it was a big deal. It was a big fucking deal.

"And for you?"

Damn it, the waitress wanted to take his order. It sounded like she had maybe asked more than once. "I'll have the special."

"Soup or salad?"

"What? Oh, salad."

"Dressing?"

"Oh for the love of..." He stood up, throwing his napkin down on the floor. "I don't want any damn dressing!" He tried to storm off but only got a few feet before he had to turn around. "I'm so sorry," he said to the waitress. "That was so rude of me. It's not you, I..."

Sam was looking at him, finally. So was the whole glee club, in fact. "Sorry, everyone. Post-competition nerves, I guess." Everyone pointedly looked away, except for Sam. Blaine walked over to him as casually as he could manage. "May I please speak to you privately for a moment?"

He walked out to the parking lot, not looking to see whether Sam was following him. He knew he was—he could hear the chair being pushed out and the footsteps behind him—he just couldn't actually look yet. He didn't look until he reached his car and turned to lean against it. Sam stood a few feet in front of him, looking at the ground.

"What the hell was that about in the locker room?" He actually meant to sound angry, but he didn't, because he wasn't.

"I literally don't know how to make it any clearer."

"No. Okay. I get that. I guess. I mean...why did you tell me that now? Why tonight?"

"Because I thought you were about to propose to Kurt."

"I _was _about to propose to Kurt! I am...You just wanted to fuck that up for me?"

Sam shrugged, still looking down. "I didn't want to fuck anything up for you. I just..."

"You just what? Sam..." He waited until Sam looked at him. "Why _did_ you tell me...what you did...tonight? I mean, what exactly do you want me to do with this information?"

"I want you to not propose to Kurt."

"Sam!" It's what Blaine suspected, but he didn't think Sam would admit it so bluntly.

"Not tonight," Sam added. He sounded kind of desperate. "Wait a while at least. A few weeks, even a few days. I won't try to stop you again if you still want to after you just...after you just give me a little time."

"You want me to give you a little time to...?"

"I want you to give me a little time and go on a date with me."

"You want me to not propose to Kurt tonight and you want to take me out on a date."

"Yes. Please, Blaine, I—"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay," Blaine repeated.


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine said okay. Sam kind of couldn't believe he said okay. He was thrilled—giddy, even—that Blaine said okay.

And then he was terrified. He had no idea what to do for their date. He had put all his thoughts into just getting Blaine to agree to go on one with him. And whatever he did it had to be perfect. Sam didn't have any illusions that Blaine had already chosen him over Kurt. He was just giving him a chance—one chance.

And Sam, like an idiot, had told Blaine he'd pick him up the following afternoon at four. He didn't want to give Blaine too much time to reconsider and back out—but that also left him with very little time to come up with an idea, not to mention plan how to carry one out.

He should have suggested next week. That would have given him plenty of time to think of something really good, maybe even find a way to get some money for something really nice. Plus, Kurt would be back in New York by then, so...

But he didn't want to manipulate Blaine into choosing him by default. He wanted Blaine to just choose him.

Sam pulled up in front of Blaine's house just a little after three-thirty. He knew he was ridiculously early, but after he'd figured out where to take him and made the reservation and gotten dressed, he had nothing to do at the Hudmel house other than pace around driving himself crazy. And he certainly didn't want Kurt to ask him what was up!

So...well, he couldn't just sit there in his car in Blaine's driveway for half an hour. He backed up and drove halfway down the block to sit and wait there. He could use the time to practice his song. Not that he could easily break out the guitar while sitting behind the wheel, but at least he could go through the words and make sure he remembered them.

Jesus, it was hot for March. He was dressed too warmly, and the sun was hitting him right in the face. He had to roll down all the windows and close his eyes while he sang. He was on his third time through the song—and seriously, how could he keep fucking up the lyrics; there weren't that many of them!—when his phone rang. Blaine's picture was on his screen, and, fuck, he was so cute. Please let him not be calling to cancel!

"Hello?"

"Sam? Uh, is that you sitting in your car in front of my neighbors' house?"

"Um...maybe? What, uh...what does your neighbors' house look like?" Jesus, of all the stupid responses. "I didn't want to just show up at your house early, so..."

"You can come over. I'll ask my mom to let you in; I'm almost ready."

Sam hopped out of the car and started to run over to Blaine's. But...shit, he should probably walk. He was already sweaty from that super-concentrated sunlight through the car windows. And even though there was a breeze it didn't seem to be helping.

Mrs. Anderson opened the door as soon as he knocked. It was almost as if she'd just been standing there waiting for him. But as soon as he saw her he realized he'd forgotten something in the car. "Sorry. Be right back."

He ran full-speed back to the car, because what the hell, he was already sweaty, and now Blaine's mom was actually standing there watching and waiting for him so he didn't want to be slow. He grabbed the carnation bouquet off the passenger seat and ran back to the house.

"How lovely, Sam. For me?"

Crap! Was he supposed to get something for Blaine's mom too? Of course she'd assume the flowers were for her. Who gets flowers for a dude? But...if he gave the flowers to Mrs. Anderson then he wouldn't have anything to give to Blaine, and...oh fuck, oh fuck...

Mr. Anderson walked out of the kitchen and stood behind his wife. "Theresa, be nice. You're going to give the boy a heart attack. Come on in, Sam. Blaine will be down in a minute."

Sam stepped inside and looked around the foyer. He'd never really looked at it before. Mainly because he'd never really spent any time standing there trying not to look at Blaine's parents before.

"Would you like a Coke?" Mrs. Anderson asked him after what seemed like hours.

"Um, no thanks." His mouth was really dry though. "Maybe some water though?"

"Follow me." She led him into the kitchen and practically pushed him onto a stool at the island thingy. She handed him a glass of ice water and asked, "So what do you have planned for your big date?"

"Theresa!" Mr. Anderson said. He had just joined them in the kitchen.

"What?" she said. "I'm just making conversation."

"I thought we'd, uh..."

There was Blaine, thank God. Sam hopped off his stool. Blaine was wearing...Jesus, he was wearing the same outfit he wore when he sang that Phil Collins song. He looked so...honestly, how many guys looked hot in red pants? None. Only Blaine. Sam couldn't quite remember how he'd managed to sit through that song without rushing the stage and jumping him. Fuck, if Blaine's parents weren't here now...

Calm down, Sam. You don't even know if he's still interested. True, he'd chosen to wear _that _outfit...but maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe he didn't even remember when he'd worn it last. Besides, Blaine's parents _were _here.

"Blaine." He stepped toward him. "Wow, you look really..." Cute? Hot? Gorgeous? All were true but none sounded right. "Really, really nice." Man, he really had a way with words, didn't he?

"Thank you. You look really nice too."

"Oh!" Sam said dismissively. He hadn't known what to wear. If it had been a date with anyone else, especially any other guy (though why he'd want to date any other guy he couldn't imagine) he would've asked Kurt's advice. But he obviously couldn't do that. He'd gone with jeans and his brown jacket that looked kind of like the one Heath Ledger wore in _Brokeback Mountain_, because he realized that if he was into guys now, which apparently he was at least a little, he could see the appeal of Heath Ledger. And he hoped that Blaine could see it too.

He remembered the flowers and held them out. "Here. I, uh..."

Blaine smiled and his eyes got all...Blainey. He took them and smelled, and even though they didn't really have much of a scent—the grocery store really didn't have anything that did, except the red roses, which seemed a bit overboard for a first date—he acted like they did. "Thank you, Sam."

He kissed Sam on the cheek! And maybe it was the unseasonable warmth and the Heath Ledger jacket, but Sam actually felt a little lightheaded.

Blaine put the flowers in a vase, and they made it out of the house without much interference from his parents. Sam was kind of pissed at himself for leaving the car halfway down the block, but Blaine didn't seem to mind.

Blaine almost let himself into the car, but Sam ran over to the passenger door to open it for him. He got there in time, but only by sort of inadvertently pushing Blaine out of the way. "Oh my God, Blaine! I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay."

"I'm fine," Blaine said, rubbing his shoulder where it had been slammed against the mirror. "This probably won't bruise much." And then he laughed...as if it were somehow funny that Sam had just maimed the guy he was trying to impress!

Sam had to rest his head on the roof of the car for a minute. He knew he had to just calm the fuck down or he was going to lose it, severely. Then Blaine's hand was on his back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be great if I don't send you to the emergency room."

"See, I'm more worried about you ending up in the emergency room. You're going to give yourself an aneurysm."

"I'm trying to avoid that too."

"Why are you so nervous?" Blaine asked softly.

"Why am I so nervous!?" Sam looked at him incredulously. "Maybe because everything is riding on this one date and I'm terrified of fucking it up?"

"Sam..." Blaine placed his hand lightly on the back of his neck, and it just... "You're sweet and adorable. Everything doesn't ride on this one date."

"But if it goes horribly and you decide to propose to Kurt..."

"Okay, just stop, Sam. You make it sound like an audition. Like I've never met you and my entire opinion of you will be based on this one performance."

"But...Kurt..."

"I'm not going to propose to Kurt. Okay? I realized last night that that was a horrible idea."

"So even if I totally fuck up the date?"

"You won't. But even if you did. Even if you, like, mug an old lady or something really horrible, I won't go running to Kurt to propose."

"Well I'm not planning on mugging anyone. And I can't imagine anything that would make me spontaneously decided to do it either."

"See?" Blaine rubbed his thumb in a circle on the back of his neck. "Then you can stop worrying."

"But, suppose I do fuck up. Not, like, criminally, but really bad. Are you saying that you won't propose to Kurt _now_ or that you won't propose to him _ever_?"

Blaine frowned. "That's not really a fair thing to ask me. I don't know what'll happen in, say, a year, or ten years."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "No. Yeah, that—"

"I mean, you can't _promise _that you'll never propose to Brittany, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Actually I can totally promise that." He would always consider Brittany a friend, but their romance had been a love-the-one-you're-with kind of thing. And they were both okay with that; it had worked for them. "I get your point. But...can you at least promise not to propose before graduation?"

"That is a promise I'm happy to make." He kissed Sam on the cheek again.

Sam smiled. "I know that was just a tiny peck, but I _really_ liked it."

"Well maybe I'll give you another one after our date. If we ever go on it."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Sam held the car door open for Blaine and shut it behind him, after making sure Blaine was totally in and didn't have any limbs sticking out.

He drove them to the lake. It was the first really warm day of spring, and so the parking lot was packed. They had to park at the far edge, and when they were almost to the lake, they had to turn back because Sam had forgotten something in the car. When he opened the trunk and took out his guitar case, Blaine broke out in a huge grin. "Are you...Sam, are you going to serenade me? Because that would be so..."

"If I told you now it wouldn't be a surprise." He slung the guitar over his back and led Blaine to the canoe rental place.

There had still been quite a bit of snow left on the ground until today, so as soon as they stepped off the asphalt of the parking lot they discovered that the ground was very soft and muddy. Sam really hoped those shoes Blaine was wearing weren't his favorites or anything. And he was _really_ glad that Blaine had already promised not to propose to Kurt (anytime soon) no matter how fucked-up the date was, because if he hadn't, Sam would be seriously freaking out about the mud.

The canoe guys didn't have a canoe ready for him, even though he'd reserved one for four-thirty and they were only ten minutes late. Blaine just grabbed his hand and said, "That's all right. We'll wait." And they did. There was a bench and they sat there and held hands. Blaine's hand was so warm and soft and just felt comfortable and right. They had to wait about fifteen minutes for the next canoe, but it felt like a lot less.

There was a little island in the middle of the lake, and Sam paddled them toward it. He'd never been there, but he'd always thought it would be a romantic, secluded little spot to take someone.

Apparently he wasn't the only person with that thought. There was hardly even anywhere to park the canoe—or whatever you called it when you left a canoe on land and got out for while. He did find a spot, but he couldn't get the canoe onto the land without getting out and standing in the water. Was there even a way to do that? So...well, the ice-cold lake water got the mud off his shoes anyway.

He pulled the canoe far enough up that Blaine would have some dry land to step out onto. Well, dry_ish_ land. Not actually in the lake, but still sort of soft and muddy. He extended his arm, and when Blaine grabbed it to pull himself out of the canoe, Sam slipped on the mud and fell right on his ass.

"Sam! Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah..." Nothing broken anyway. He checked the guitar; it seemed okay. "You know I'm holding you to your promise, though, right? About no matter how much I fuck up this date?"

"I don't think you're fucking it up at all," Blaine said, and he sat down next to Sam in the mud.

"Your hot red pants!" Sam said.

"You think my pants are hot?" Blaine asked.

"Well...I think _you_ look hot in them."

Blaine blushed. "These will come clean," he said. "I'm more worried about the mud splatters on your jacket...which _you _look really hot in."

"It _is _a bit warm for this thing..."

"Not what I meant."

"So you like my gay cowboy look?"

"Very much."

Sam removed the jacket and threw it in the canoe.

"Not that I'm implying you look gay!" Blaine said. "I wasn't even gonna mention... You're the one who said it!"

"That's not why I took it off. I took it off because it's hot. Literally."

"Oh. Good. You know, you still look hot in that white t-shirt. Figuratively."

Sam smiled at the compliment, but he was still thinking about the other thing Blaine said. "I mean, if I were worried about looking gay I probably wouldn't be on a date with a dude."

"So...does it bother you at all?"

"So far no. I mean, I guess it's not _that_ obvious that we're on a date. We haven't, like...kissed in public or anything yet."

"Yet?" Blaine asked softly.

"Not that I want to...presume that you want to."

Blaine looked at him with his beautiful hazel eyes. Had Sam really told Quinn once that she had pretty eyes? Hers were nothing compared to the ones looking at him now. "I'd be okay with you...presuming that."

Sam reached for Blaine...shit, his hands were muddy. He wiped them on his jeans, reached out again, placed his hands on Blaine's shoulders. Scooted closer. Leaned in. "No, wait!" he said.

"Wait?"

"I have to serenade you first. We can't kiss before the serenade, it has to be after. When you're all swept away and shit."

"I was kind of swept away already. Until you used the word _shit._"

"Well then I guess the serenade really is necessary." Sam scrambled to his feet, then held his hand out to help Blaine up. "Okay, back in the..." He had been planning to sing to Blaine in the canoe. But he had a vision—the way things were going, he had a vision of leaning in for his kiss finally and tipping the whole thing over. Which might be sort of funny and romantic if the water weren't still really cold.

"Back in the boat?" Blaine asked.

"Never mind. Let's just find a place where you can sit." Because everyone knows the serenadee can't stand.

There wasn't much on this little island. Trees, bushes...some kind of dormant undergrowth. A lot of couples holding hands, most of them saying something along the lines of, "Well, I guess we've seen it now. Should we head back?"

They found a log that wasn't too gross or uncomfortable-looking, and Blaine sat on it. Sam took out his guitar. While he tuned it he started having second thoughts about the song. It was probably too much, it would probably freak Blaine out. Oh, God, he had to think of a different song, quick. Uh...

Uh...

"You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah. So, uh..." He could _not _think of a different song. "Let me just preface this by saying please don't get freaked out. I mean, I just like this song a lot, and it's really beautiful and it makes me think of you...Anyway, if it sounds like I'm trying to move to fast or whatever...well, just don't freak out, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay. So, uh..." He pulled out the Elvis impersonation he'd been working on: "I'd like to do a song made famous by the king."

Blaine clapped. Prematurely because Sam hadn't even started yet, and it actually kind of distracted him. But he managed to start. "Wise men say only fools rush in." He closed his eyes; he was too terrified to see how Blaine would react to the next line. "But I can't help falling in love with you."

Holy fucking fuck. He really just sang that out loud.

He opened his eyes. Blaine was still there, still watching him. Was he freaked out? Sam had no idea. He just knew that...that even if it was too early, that this the right song, this was the song he needed to sing to Blaine. This was what he really meant.

He finished the song without fucking it up, because how could he fuck it up when the song _was_ Blaine and Blaine was right there in front of him?

There was clapping, but it wasn't from Blaine. Some of the other couples had listened, apparently; Sam hadn't noticed them. Blaine stood and approached him. "Sam, that was..."

And Blaine's lips were on his and their audience's applause got louder, but he hardly heard that. He heard his own gasp a split second before impact. He heard Blaine's hand brush past his ear on its way to the back of his neck. He heard the sloshy mixing of Blaine's saliva with his own. And he heard Blaine moan lightly, break away, and whisper, "Least fucked up date ever."


	4. Chapter 4

Blaine hummed to himself as he arranged his books in his locker Monday morning. He hadn't been able to get the mud stains out of those red pants after all, but everything else was pretty much perfect. He'd replayed the date with Sam in his head in his head all night, and when he woke up he realized it hadn't even been a dream; it had really happened!

And there was Sam now, walking down the hall toward him. Blaine felt himself smiling like an idiot. He'd have to tone it down a bit, he knew. They were definitely together—they'd discussed it and decided it was "official"—but they hadn't talked about how or even if they'd reveal their status at school. Blaine assumed they'd let the glee club know, but as for the rest of the school, that was undetermined. He didn't want to go back into the closet, but he also didn't want to push Sam to come out before he was ready.

What he didn't expect at all was for Sam to walk right up and kiss him. On the mouth. Right there in the crowded hallway. The kiss definitely did not go unnoticed by passersby, although Sam seemed pretty oblivious to the reactions. "Sam, what are you...?"

"What? We're going out. I get to."

"Yeah, but..." Blaine gestured at the hundreds of kids in the hallway.

"You know what? Fuck anyone who doesn't like it. If you didn't like it, I'd care. But frankly I don't give a shit what any of these assholes think." Sam flung his arms out and accidentally slapped Artie, who had just rolled over to them, in the side of the head.

"First of all, ow," Artie said.

"Sorry, dude."

"Second of all, I'm not an asshole, asshole."

"Obviously I didn't mean you."

"Obviously. And third of all, you don't care what assholes think about what?"

Sam wrapped his arm around Blaine's shoulder and announced, "We're going out!" Just in case anyone other than Artie had missed the kiss a minute ago.

"Good for you!" Artie said, punching Blaine in the arm. "I have to warn you, though. Sam was going out with Brittany."

"Yeah, but they broke up," Blaine said.

"Right. But listen to what I'm saying. Sam was going out with _Brittany_."

"Okay..."

"Do I have to spell it out for you, man?" Blaine just looked at him blankly until he continued. "Sam is used to having certain needs met. Frequently."

"Oh!" Blaine felt his face grow warm.

Sam pressed his mouth to Blaine's ear. "Don't let him freak you out. But, uh...yeah, we should probably talk about that, actually. Like, sooner rather than later."

During study hall, Tina dragged Blaine over to Mrs. Mikolajczyk's desk. "May Blaine and I be excused to the library, please? We have some student council work to do." Mrs. Mikolajczyk let them go, and Tina pulled him out to the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" Blaine asked.

"Your car, obviously."

They got in Blaine's car. It was another warm day; Blaine opened the windows. Tina leaned the passenger's seat way back and stretched her legs out so her feet rested on the side mirror. "So congratulations," she said.

"Thanks," Blaine said, smiling. He hoped she was really happy for him. She didn't seem mad, at least.

"Remember when we both had stupid crushes on people who couldn't possibly return them?"

"Yeah." Blaine leaned his head back on the headrest. "I guess I'd tell you that anything's possible, but..."

"No. I know." Tina smiled at him. "If you're not willing to give girls a try, though, I'm going to."

"What?"

"Seriously. I'm done with men."

Blaine thought she was joking. Probably. But he decided to play along. "So are there any sexy, sexy ladies you have your eye on?"

"Brittany would be the obvious choice, if she were still here." Tina smiled again, a bit lewdly this time. "And she has really nice tits."

"Tina!"

"What? She does. And if anyone can probably give me some good carpet munching tips..."

"Stop! Before I have to stab myself in the eardrums."

"If I show you pictures of me and Brittany doing the nasty, will have you have to stab yourself in the eyeballs too?"

"Yes. Please don't."

"Well, if that's how you feel about it, then I don't want you going down on me anyway."

"I'd be really horrible at it," Blaine admitted.

"The worst," Tina agreed.

"So are you happy for me?"

"Of course I am, Bling-Bling." She swiveled so her head was against Blaine's side and her legs were sticking straight out the window. It looked excruciatingly uncomfortable, but Blaine didn't say that, he just rested his hand on top of her head. "Put some music on," she told him. "It's almost time for lunch. We'll go inside then and everyone else can be happy for you too."

"Sure. What should we listen to? 'I Kissed a Girl'?"

"Yeah, actually. But not the craptastic Katy Perry one."

"You did not just call Katy Perry craptastic."

Tina took out her iPod and queued up the other "I Kissed a Girl," the 1995 Jill Sobule one. Blaine wondered if she was actually considering...well, as long as she didn't insist on sharing the lurid details. They listened to the song four or five times, Tina singing along, before it was time to go inside for lunch.

Fourth period was just letting out and the halls were filling up. Sam saw them on his way out of history and ran over to them. He kissed Blaine on the mouth again and said, "I've missed you! I wish we had some classes together."

Blaine thought Sam was being adorable but way too naïve about how much PDA they could get away with without anyone caring. And he was afraid he was about to be proved right when he saw most of the wrestling team spill out of the gym. "Maybe we should cool it a little..."

"Please," Tina said. "Like there's a gayer sport than wrestling. Not you, Lauren."

Lauren Zizes stopped and looked at them. She didn't have a sarcastic comment...or any comment at all.

"How've you been?" Sam asked. "Ever think of coming back to glee?"

Bobby Surette and Phil Lipoff barreled between Sam and Blaine, pushing them to either side. They laughed like morons and Bobby said, "Pardon us, ladies."

"Did you spend all morning trying to come up with that awesome put-down?" Sam said.

"Listen to who's got a sassy mouth all of a sudden," Bobby said. "What else have you been doing with that sassy mouth, faggot?" He tried to push Sam into the locker, but Lauren stood between them.

Her eyes piercing Bobby's, she said in a low and calm voice, "I am having a really, really bad day. If I were you I wouldn't want to see what will happen if you fuck with my friends."

Phil put his hands up and backed away. Bobby wasn't that smart. He looked past her, to Sam, and said, "So you have to hide behind girls now?"

"He didn't mean anything, Lauren—"

"Stay out of this, Lipoff." Lauren took her glasses off and handed them to Tina. "Would you hold these for me, hon?"

"Lauren, it's really okay," Sam said. "I don't care what this—"

"Not about you, either, Evans."

Before anyone saw quite how she'd done it she had Bobby's hands pinned behind his back and she was slamming him face-first into a locker. A crowd gathered and started chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Sam and Lipoff managed to pull her off, but not until his nose was bleeding pretty badly.

Coach Beiste charged out of the locker room and the crowd dispersed. "What the hell is going on here!?" she demanded.

No one answered for a minute. It was Bobby who finally broke the silence, saying, "Zizes and I were practicing some wrestling moves."

Beiste snorted, clearly not buying it. She hauled everyone who hadn't run off—the three glee kids and the three wrestlers—down to Figgins's office. But even there, Lauren and Bobby stuck to their story that they were practicing wrestling, and no one contradicted them.

Figgins gave up pretty quickly and told everyone to get out of his office and get back to class or wherever they were supposed to be. They were about to go when Beiste leaned forward and said, "Lauren, what is going on with you?"

Lauren made a noise that sounded like...it sounded like a sob. Everyone sat in stunned silence until they heard another one, unmistakable this time. After taking less than a minute to compose herself, she looked every person in the room in the eye, one by one, and said, "If anyone outside this room hears of this, I swear I'll—"

"Lauren, come on. What is it?" Coach Beiste asked again.

"Do any of you remember Henry Nelson?"

"Sure," Bobby said. "He was like the best senior on the wrestling team when we were freshmen."

"Isn't he engaged to your sister?" Phil asked.

"He was."

"So they broke up?" Blaine said.

"Close. He was killed in Afghanistan. Now if you'll excuse me." Lauren stood up and walked to the door. "I don't know why I even came to school today. I think my sister might need me."

She walked out and left the door open on a very quiet room. Sam silently took Blaine's hand and Blaine took Tina's. Coach Beiste—she wouldn't have even known this kid, he would have graduated before she started at McKinley, but she had tears in her eyes. Bobby and Phil looked at each other. Bobby shook his head and muttered, "Henry fucking Nelson."

Figgins told them again to get out, and this time they did. Phil and Bobby went wherever the hell it was they were going, and Blaine and Sam and Tina went to the cafeteria. Kitty saw them come in together, all still holding hands, and said, "I heard you guys were a couple. I didn't hear you were a threesome."

Tina let go of Blaine's hand. "Artie, did you know a kid named Henry Nelson? Three years ahead of us? On the wrestling team?" Artie shook his head, but he didn't ask why Tina was asking and she didn't tell him.

"That could've happened to Finn," Blaine whispered to Sam. "Thank God he got kicked out of the army."

"I've thought about joining," Sam said quietly. "If I don't get into college."

Blaine hugged him tight. He buried his face in the crook of Sam's neck and said, "Please don't." But his words were muffled; he knew Sam wouldn't be able to hear him. He moved his head back and looked into Sam's eyes. "You'll get into college. You will. But even if...just don't join the army, okay? Please?" Maybe Blaine didn't have any right to ask that, but the idea of Sam going away and, and...having people trying to _kill_ him...literally trying to _kill_ him...No. He just couldn't. "Please?"


	5. Chapter 5

"There's a Taylor Swift concert in Columbus the same day as Henry's funeral," Puck informed the glee club. He'd been hanging out with Lauren again since he heard the news—just as friends, as far as anyone knew. And today he'd come to glee practice with Finn.

"So?" Sam said. "I don't think any of us would want to not be there for Lauren and her family just so we could go hear Taylor Swift."

"They're probably not even at the same time," Sugar said. "The funeral's in the morning."

"Dudes, will you let me finish?" Puck said. "The only reason it even matters is that those Westboro Baptist douchebags are planning one of their 'God Hates Fags' protests at the concert. And apparently when they do that, they like to check the area for military funerals so they can squeeze in a 'Thank God for Dead Soldiers' protest at the same time..."

"God, no," Mr. Schuester said. Pretty much everyone muttered something similar.

Sam stood up. "Does the wrestling team know about this yet? We gotta go talk to them."

All the current New Directions and most of the past ones showed up to be part of the human wall shielding Henry's family from the Westboro douchebags. Some of them wanted to make clever counter-protest signs; Santana, especially, had a lot of good ideas. But Blaine convinced them that the important thing was to let the Nelsons bury their son with dignity, not add to the spectacle.

Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—not everyone got Blaine's memo. The past and present wrestlers, for example, way outnumbered the glee kids, and a lot of them had signs. So did a lot of the people who weren't affiliated with glee or wrestling, which ended up being the largest group there after word got out throughout Lima.

There were a lot of "God Hates No One" signs. A couple of people stood next to the douchebags with signs that said "Fuck This Guy" or "Likes Nickelback." "Fred Phelps Sucks Cock" was popular. A couple guys held up one that said, "We were going to make a sign but we were too busy buttfucking." Based on the way they were making out, it was probably true. And then there were some totally random signs, like "Where's My Jetpack?" and "Zombie Apocalypse 2013."

After the funeral, the New Directions went to the Lima Bean. "I told you we should have made signs," Santana said. "We were the boringest people there."

Kitty rolled her eyes and said, "Really not the point." Henry's family and friends didn't have to see the Westboro douches, so regardless of whether the counter-protest signs were helpful or appropriate, the event was a success.

"Fine. But did you see that one sign that said 'Shirley Phelps: Muff Diver'? I'm sorry, but no. No self-respecting lesbian would let that shriveled old bat anywhere near her muff." Brittany whispered something in Santana's ear. "Trouty, get my girl a smoothie, will you?"

"Not strawberry!" Brittany said, snuggling into Santana's side.

Sam got up and walked to the counter. Blaine followed him. "You're actually getting her one? She dumped you via text."

"You don't understand what I owe her. I never would have manned up and told you how I felt if she hadn't talked me into it."

"When? She barely talked to you between sending you that text and you taking me back in the time machine."

"It was before we broke up. Brittany was cool with me being in...with me being super into you before _I_ was totally cool with it."

It wasn't like he had just one day all of a sudden told Brittany, "I'm in love with Blaine"—although he had used those exact words eventually. The first time he'd mentioned anything was...well, upon waking from a dream.

He and Brittany usually told each other about their sex dreams—especially if they were together when one of them woke up from one, which was the case this time. He'd woken—half-woken, really—with a raging erection, which he was rubbing against Brittany's leg.

"What are you dreaming about, babe?" she whispered.

"Blaine..."

"Blaine? Is he sucking you?"

"Uh huh," Sam said, although he wasn't actually sure. The dream was vague, or his memory of it was. It was mostly just: _Want Blaine_.

Brittany rolled on top of him and kissed his neck and chest while he rolled his hips sleepily under her. She shimmied down his body until her face was next to his cock. "Is he sucking you like this?" She slowly worked her mouth around his hard-on.

"Fuck, Britt."

"Call me Blaine. It's totally hot."

"Blaine."

It wasn't difficult at all to imagine that it was Blaine's dark-haired head instead of Brittany's blonde one bobbing up and down on him...Blaine's deft fingers massaging his balls...Blaine's warm mouth working to coax the come out of him.

"God, Blaine. God, _fuck me_, Blaine."

He felt a finger pressing insistently against his asshole while Blaine...Brittany...turned the suction up to eleven.

"Blaine!" His hips jerked and he thrust into Brittany's mouth until she had drained him completely.

Brittany climbed back up him and lay with her head resting under his chin. "Good morning," she said, giving his neck a little kiss. "Sorry the finger was the best I could do on short notice. Some other time if you want—"

"That was amazing, Britt," he said, stroking her hair.

After that, Sam started telling her about more "dreams" he had about Blaine. And if they were technically fantasies more than dreams, well, he still wasn't exactly lying. He was just using the word _dream_ as a short form of _daydream_; he never actually stated that they were sleeping dreams. It was just easier to hope Brittany would assume that they were, that they were thoughts he had no control over.

Brittany played along for a few weeks before she just asked, "Do you want to talk about your feelings for Blaine? Because I don't care if you pretend I'm him now and then, and I don't even mind pretending too sometimes, but I think you want more than that."

By that time it wasn't too hard to talk to Britt about his sexual feelings for Blaine. Talking about his emotional feelings was actually a little trickier because...well, with the sexual stuff, there were certain things he was able to admit to curiosity about (_curiosity_ being Sam's term; Brittany's would have been _desire_) that Brittany, her astonishing array of strap-ons notwithstanding, really couldn't do for him. She didn't take that personally.

In some respects she knew and didn't take it personally that she couldn't meet his emotional needs either. She knew he wanted someone to be in love with him, and she just wasn't. In her way she was, but she knew that wasn't the same.

But she didn't know...she didn't know some of the ways she actually hurt him. Like with the whole SAT thing, when they found out that she was a genius and that Sam was even more of a moron than anyone had realized. She didn't mean to hurt him, Sam knew that, and she'd been so supportive in every other way, that he couldn't bring himself to tell her how much it hurt, that what he needed was someone like Blaine, who didn't think he was a moron at all. This, in fact, was one of the few aspects of his feelings for Blaine that he had never talked to her about.

Blaine and Sam stepped up to the counter, and Sam ordered a large mango smoothie. Blaine insisted on paying for it, saying, "If Brittany's responsible for your big confession, then I guess I owe her a lot too." He put his change in his pocket and took both Sam's hands while they waited. "In fact, I think I could kiss her."

Sam smiled. "Sorry. You'll have to settle for me."

He cupped Blaine's jaw and pulled him in. Blaine barely heard the barrista clearing his throat over the sounds of his own and Sam's humming. He did, however, hear Bobby Surette say, "Hey, faggots."

Sam pulled away from Blaine reluctantly. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he said to Bobby and his partner in assholery, Phil Lipoff.

"Yeah, kinda," Bobby said.

"We wanted to thank you guys, actually," Phil said. "What you guys did today, we know it meant a lot to Henry's family."

"Well, we're glad to hear that," Blaine said. "And you guys did the same thing, so..."

Brittany and Santana interrupted them. "Sam, Santana's taking me home. This place smells bad."

"No, they're—"

"Why don't you guys come over later?"

"Don't forget your smoothie," Blaine said, handing it to her.

She sniffed it and made a face. "It smells like strawberries."

"No, it's mango."

Brittany shook her head distastefully and handed it back before leaving with Santana. Blaine shrugged and offered the smoothie to Sam, who took a sip.

"Anyway," Phil continued, "yeah, we were there, and so were lots of people. But you guys organized it. And honestly, maybe you didn't even realize it, but Henry was a guy who...I don't think he was ever very tolerant of your 'lifestyle.'"

"Oh. Well, we would've done it even if we'd known that," Sam said. "Everybody would have. The whole town."

"Yeah. So...thanks." Phil and Bobby offered them fist bumps before they went to the counter to place their orders and Sam and Blaine returned to their friends.

"What was that all about?" Kurt asked.

"Um, I think they acknowledged our right to exist?" Blaine said.

"And make out in public," Sam added.

"Yeah, about that..." Artie said. "We're all super happy for you guys, don't get me wrong. But the constant snogging is not something anyone wants to watch."

"Speak for yourself," Kitty said. She leered at the couple and waved at them encouragingly. "Carry on."

Blaine didn't feel like performing for an audience, though, even if Sam might not have minded. They really did need to have that talk about...what Artie had hinted at. Blaine had wanted to "do" Sam for so long—as Sam had so thoughtfully informed the jewelry store lady—that the idea that he might not be ready to move forward as quickly as Sam was a bit difficult to wrap his head around.

Besides, he still felt weird being with Sam in front of Kurt. Kurt had been more surprised than anybody by the Sam-Blaine development, and he still looked really...perplexed. Flabbergasted. Totally and completely uncomprehending. So a little while later when Sam asked if he was ready to go over to Brittany's, Blaine told him to go ahead, that he wanted to talk to Kurt for a bit.

"So it's true," Kurt said as he buckled his seatbelt for the drive back to his place. "A few states allow gay marriage and next thing you know, straight guys are turning into lustful cockmonsters."

"Kurt!" Kurt never used to use the word _cock_...except when they were doing stuff where one might make an actual appearance.

"I'm serious, Blaine. The way he looks at you is...well, extremely lustful. And cockmonsterish."

"If you're trying to make me blush, Kurt..." Blaine couldn't finish that sentence. Whether Kurt was actually _trying_ to or not (and he probably was), it was working. "What's going on with you and Adam?"

"Don't ask me about me and Adam," Kurt said. He crossed his legs and switched on the radio. "Wow, really? You've got it on the country station?"

"I was just flipping through," Blaine said. "And why can't I ask about you and Adam?"

"Quiet, I love this song."

"You love Brad Paisley?"

"Aha, see? Flipping through indeed."

Kurt made a show of dancing (but not singing) along to the music, so Blaine was quiet until he pulled into Kurt's driveway. He even waited for the song to finish before he turned off the car. "Why can't I ask you about Adam? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's peachy, Blaine. You can't ask me about Adam because you're only bringing him up to remind me that I moved on first."

"Well, no. I was asking because you're my friend and I care about you. But..."

"But I did move on first. Fine. That doesn't mean..." He unbuckled his seatbelt and brought his knees up to his chin. "This thing with you and Sam has just happened _so fast_. It was just a week ago that I was here to watch you guys win regionals, and you were flirting with me like crazy. I really thought you were going to try to get back together with me. I'm not saying I would have. But...I guess I'm not saying I wouldn't have either."

"Kurt..."

"I'm not going to tell you that you can't be with Sam. I'm not going to stand in your way. But I'm also not going to lie to you and tell you it doesn't hurt."

"I don't want to hurt you, Kurt."

"I know. I can be pretty self-absorbed, but even I don't think this is about me, about you _trying_ to hurt me. I can tell you really want him, and I can tell he _can't wait_ to fuck you. You're both guys, you have needs. I get it."

"You think it's just sexual?"

"Oh, no. I'm sure you're soul mates. I mean, you told me that we were, but whatever. People make mistakes."

"Kurt..."

"No, it's fine, really. Look, I was glad to come home and help out with the funeral and everything. Let's just...let's you and me just not talk for a while. Okay?" He opened the car door.

"If that's what you want."

"It is." He got out of the car and stood there with the door open just long enough to say, "Thanks for the lift." And he shut the door and walked into his house without looking back.


	6. Chapter 6

It was Santana who let Sam in. "Where's Britt?" he asked.

"Sleeping. I wore her out." Santana smirked at him. "Or maybe she was with you so long that now she thinks falling asleep after is a normal thing to do."

Sam blushed, wondering what else Brittany had told her. He knew she didn't think their no-kissing-and-telling rule applied when it came to Santana.

He hung out in the Pierces' kitchen with Santana for a while. She was a lot nicer to him now that he and Brittany had broken up, and since there was no one else around for her to impress with her badassery. "I like how you're not taking any shit for wanting to be with Blaine," she said. "I wish I'd been brave like that when I first fell for Britt."

"You're the bravest person I know, Santana," Sam said. At the same time, they both added, "Except Brittany."

"Of course," Santana added, "nothing's ever worked out bad for her. Maybe it's not bravery if you're too naïve to know any better."

"I'm not naïve," Brittany said. She had walked silently into the kitchen, wearing cotton panties and a cropped hoodie. Her hair was a tangled mess despite being (partially) still in the ponytail she'd had it in earlier.

"I didn't mean naïve," Santana said. "I meant charmed."

"How was your first week at MIT?" Sam asked.

"Exhausting," Brittany said. She got three glasses out of the cupboard and poured them each a glass of chocolate milk. "I have to take so many tests. It's like being in school all day."

"Well it is—" Santana started.

"And it's really stressful for Lord and Lady Tubbington. Their marriage counselor is really concerned about the credit card debt they're racking up on shoes for Lord Tubbington and strippers for Lady Tubbington."

"You mean shoes for _Lady_ Tubbington and—"

She cut Sam off: "It's not my cats' fault if they don't conform to your ideas of gender norms. Gender norms are something you learn about in college."

"Yeah, Trouty. Besides, you should know about ladies and strippers. And your boyfriend should know about blowing wads of money on fashion."

Sam smiled at the mention of Blaine, and Brittany smiled back at him. "You guys belong together like me and Santana do. Hey, isn't he coming over?"

"He wanted to talk to Kurt first." 

"Kurt did not even believe you two were together," Santana said. "He thought Blaine was straight-up lying to him until he saw you two playing tonsil hockey."

"Why would he think Blaine would lie to him?"

Santana shrugged. Brittany told him to text Blaine and see if he was coming over, which he did. A couple minutes later he got a reply, which he read out loud. "Tell Brittany thanks and that I wish I could but I have to rehearse for my NYADA audition. I'd actually really just like to see you alone so come over if you can."

"But you shouldn't go over and distract him if he needs to rehearse," Brittany said.

"I don't think Trouty was supposed to read the whole thing out loud," Santana said.

"Oh. Well, then go distract your man."

Sam drank half his milk and stood up to hug Brittany. "Thanks. For everything." She shooed him toward the door with a swat on the butt.

Blaine looked amazing when Sam got over to his house. He always looked good, of course, but earlier today he'd been in muted colors. It was a funeral, after all. Remembering that made Sam feel bad about how happy he was to see Blaine in his normal vibrant colors again.

"Are your parents home?"

"No..."

Sam went in for a kiss but Blaine backed away. "What's wrong? Did I do something?"

"No, nothing's wrong. I just want to talk." He took Sam by the hand and led him into the living room. He sat on one side of the couch and gestured for Sam to sit on the other. They both turned toward each other with their backs against the arms.

"I'm waiting for you to tell me how this doesn't mean anything's wrong, dude. You're kinda freaking me out." Wanting to talk instead of kiss—right after seeing Kurt—there was no part of this that sounded good.

"I swear nothing's wrong. We just... Do you want to fuck me?"

"Uh..." Sam stalled, hoping Blaine would clarify the question. He understood the words, but... But Blaine was just watching him, waiting for an answer. "Is this a trick question? Or a suggestion? Cause if it's a suggestion and you mean right now..." If Blaine meant right now, then Sam didn't think he was ready. That is, he could be _ready_ within like two seconds of touching Blaine. He just wasn't mentally prepared, at the moment...he was wearing X-Men boxers for God's sake. Though Blaine might not mind, come to think of it.

"Sorry, sorry. That came out all wrong. It's just... You said we should talk, right? About what Artie said about 'needs' and how you were probably used to... And Kurt said...when we were in the car he said that he can tell just from your look that you can't wait to..."

"I do want to," Sam said. "But if Kurt was trying to imply that I literally can't wait...well, I'm not a rapist."

Blaine laughed. "No one was suggesting _that_." He stretched his legs out so his feet were almost touching Sam's criss-crossed legs. "He did kind of hint that... I mean, it's ridiculous. Never mind."

"You _have _to tell me now."

"He hinted that it's purely sexual between us. Like I said, it's ridiculous."

"Totally ridiculous." Sam smiled and even laughed. "I never thought I'd be accused of being interested in a _dude_ just for his body."

"Yeah, it's ludicrous," Blaine said, glancing down at his chest.

"Not ludicrous like _that._ Blaine, I totally dig your body. It took me a while to realize how much I dig it, but I do. But do I really have to remind you of _all_ the stuff we had between us when we were quote-unquote just friends?"

"No. You have to remind me not to listen to stuff Kurt says when he's upset."

"Well, I don't blame him for being upset. I don't think having Kurt pissed at me will be as bad as having Santana pissed at me." Which was one thing he didn't seem to have to worry about anymore. "Can I tell you something? Like, why I wanted to talk about this stuff in the first place?" Sam stretched his legs out on top of Blaine's and realized for the first time that he'd had his feet up on the couch with his shoes on. He took them off, checking them and the couch for dirt. "Is your mom going to kill me?"

"Nah, the couch looks fine. And yes, I would like you to tell me something."

"So, I've only...we're not having a sexy conversation now, right? So I should just use the correct terms?" Blaine nodded, so he continued. "I've only had sex with two people. Brittany, obviously, and this other stripper at the club in Kentucky."

Blaine straightened up. "You've been with a guy?"

"What? No, most of the strippers who worked there were girls. Women, supposedly, but some of them were under age like me. We performed at different times, obviously, but we'd see each other backstage. She was really hot and, you know, experienced, and she wanted me, and it was awesome. But _that_ was just sex. Brittany was more complicated. It wasn't just sex, but that was a big part of it. Anyway, the reason I'm telling you this is that...I never had a, you know, a romantic first time with anyone. And I'd like that. You know, even if we have to plan it a little and that makes it less spontaneous. Although...my plans don't always work out that great, so..."

"Your plans work out awesome, Sam."

"And I guess I should back up, because I haven't even asked if you want to have sex." He crossed his fingers and whispered "Please say yes."

Of course Blaine said yes. "I wouldn't mind going a _little_ slow on our way there, though. I've only been with two people too, and one of them I'd rather forget, so..."

"Yeah. We can go as slow as you want. Do you think we should each just blurt out how far we think we're ready for now? Cause, like, I'm up for anything except _it_."

"_It_, Sam?" Blaine teased him. "I thought we were using the correct terminology."

"Anal penetration," Sam said.

"Wow. Yeah, _it_ does sound better."

"So now it's your turn to blurt out the embarrassing term for what you're not ready for yet."

"Okay, so _it_ goes on my list too. And...I don't know. Is it too wishy-washy to say I might not know until we're actually in a situation?"

"No. But, you know, this is like the least sexy conversation about sex that I've ever had with anyone except my parents. We won't have to go through it every time we might be about to make out, will we?"

"That doesn't sound like much fun, does it?" Blaine said with a sigh. He shifted onto his hands and knees and crawled to Sam's side of the couch to kiss him.

It was a soft, chaste kiss, but it did give Sam an idea. "How about if you just take the lead with anything new? I won't start anything that we haven't done yet. But I still get to kiss you, because we've done that like a million times already." He kissed Blaine back, only slightly less chastely than Blaine had kissed him, and said, "A million and one."

"I like this plan," Blaine said. "Can we declare unsexy conversation time over and put the plan into action?"

"Seconded. All in favor? Aye." Sam had learned a lot in student council. He slid into a mostly flat position on his back.

Blaine scooted down too so he was sort of hovering over Sam. "Aye," he said, kissing his boyfriend's eyelid. "The motion passes." He kissed the other eyelid. He settled himself on top of Sam so he no longer had to hover. His hands were free now, and he used them to brush the hair out of Sam's face. He was so beautiful.

His lips in particular. Was it possible to develop a lip fetish? Maybe, but that wasn't it, because it was only Sam's lips that had this particular effect on him. The effect being an intense desire to suck them right off his face. Of course, then Sam wouldn't be able to make his knees buckle with just a smile, so he guessed he could leave them where they were.

He traced them with his tongue, made them glisten with his spit. They looked even more delicious that way, more irresistible. He sucked gently on the lower lip. Sam groaned and pulled his head closer. Blaine slowly moved his mouth down Sam's jaw and neck and collarbone, causing Sam to arch at a slightly different angle every time he moved.

Sam's shirt. He had worn a navy blue button-up, not even flannel or anything, that he looked very handsome in. But now it was in the way. Blaine carefully unbuttoned it, rubbing his hands over every inch of skin as soon as he exposed it. He'd seen Sam shirtless lots of times—and he never tired of it—but seeing him shirtless _under him_ was a whole new level of amazing. One that could only be improved upon if he were shirtless too. Luckily Sam was helping him with that, and there went his orange polo across the room.

He really only meant to scoot down a little to get better access to Sam's chest. This was their first horizontal make-out session, and especially after the talk they'd _just _had about going slowly...well, Blaine had intended to keep things strictly above the belt. But when he scooted, he accidentally dragged his cock down the length of Sam's. And they both gasped and intuitively ground together at the same time.

They were both so hard. They obviously needed more than just above-the-belt action. And not being ready for _it _didn't preclude some touching. Blaine could see this going in a few different ways. The ways in which they stayed in the living room were not good: his parents probably wouldn't be home soon, but there was enough of a possibility that they would to cause him to worry the whole time. He rolled his hips against Sam, eliciting another gasp, and whispered, "Wanna take this upstairs to my room?"

They raced up the stairs. Sam was in the lead, but that was okay, as it gave Blaine the chance to admire and, when they reached the top, squeeze his ass. Sam turned and grinned at him. "Thank you for scratching 'touch Blaine's ass' of the list of things I wasn't allowed to do yet. Because your ass is so..." He knelt in front of Blaine, kissing and nibbling at his stomach while groping his ass. Over the pants, because that was how Blaine had touched him.

Blaine pulled his jeans off and left them on the floor. Sam stepped out of his too before turning Blaine around. He didn't touch this time—there was no precedent yet for pantsless ass touching, but he did look longingly at his boyfriend's orange-cotton-clad butt. "Jesus, Blaine," he said. "Your ass deserves its own website."

"You think I'd show this baby off to just anybody?" Blaine joked. He did not think his ass was much to look at, but obviously Sam disagreed. He led Sam into his room and he closed and locked the door. They lay on the bed, resuming the positions they'd been in on the couch—except that Blaine took Sam's hands and placed them on his ass.

Sam's groping...his kneading...had the probably not unintentional effect of pushing Blaine against him harder. Specifically, it pushed Blaine's cock harder against Sam's. They kissed and groped and moaned and writhed and gasped. Sam looked so gorgeous. His eyes were squeezed shut, his cheeks were a splotchy red, he unconsciously licked his lips.

He let out a sound that was more whine than moan. Blaine thought that might mean he was about to come, so he quickly rolled off him, pushed his boxers down to his knees, and spit in his hand. Sam's cock was red and swollen and moist at the tip. So gorgeous. Next time...next time Blaine wanted to spend more time up close with it. But he couldn't now, he couldn't leave Sam hanging, so he wrapped his hand around it and jerked quickly. "Oh God, oh fuck Blaine, that's..." Sam's ass rose off the bed when he came, propelling his ejaculate up over his shoulders. "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus" he repeated as he rode through the orgasm and eventually came down.

"I hope that wasn't more than you were ready for," he said after he caught his breath. "You didn't have to touch my ... although I'm glad you did. It was awesome."

"I totally wanted to touch your cock," Blaine said. "Besides, I couldn't let you come all over Wolverine. That would just be wrong."

"So you liked touching it, huh? Good. I hope you thought it was worth it, because now 'touch Blaine's cock' is off my forbidden list too."

"Is that something you're ready to do, though?" Blaine's cock desperately needed to be touched. The last thing it needed right now was talking. But this would be a big deal for Sam. "You don't have to just because it's not strictly verboten anymore."

"I'm sure. I've been waiting to for longer than you realize." He pulled the cotton briefs off and dropped them at the side of the bed. It _was_ a little weird, actually—even though he wanted it, he couldn't deny that it was a little weird to be this close to someone else's cock. It was so hard and veiny. And when he grasped it, it throbbed in his hand.

"Oh, fuck, Sam." Blaine was apparently trying not to thrust into his hand but not doing of very good job of resisting. Sam licked his palm all over and began to jerk him the way he jerked himself. It didn't feel _that _different doing it to someone else...except of course that the angle was different and that half the sensations were missing (the most important half!).

Watching Blaine's face while he got jerked...it was incredible. Sam would do anything for Blaine that gave him so much pleasure. He was biting his lip, humming to himself tunelessly. Blaine! Tuneless! His skin glistened although it wasn't hot in the bedroom at all.

His breathing changed audibly, and he grasped around blindly behind his head until he found a pillow. He covered his mouth and screamed into it as ecstasy rolled through him and the liquid manifestation of that ecstasy flew out of him, getting all over the pillow and elsewhere.

There was a lot of liquid ecstasy that they really should clean up. But Sam was way too content and sleepy to care. He collapsed onto Blaine's come-covered chest and fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

The beginning of spring break found Sam and Blaine driving to Kentucky to visit Sam's family. Sam hadn't seen them in forever and he was really excited. Blaine was trying to be excited and happy too. From everything Sam had told him they sounded nice. Sam had told them as soon as he and Blaine started going out, and they didn't seem to be too upset about Sam having a boyfriend. But Blaine was nervous.

His parents wrapped Sam in a tight three-way hug as soon as he stepped out of the car. And then Sam's little brother and sister wedged their way into the middle. One of them—Blaine couldn't tell which—was yelling "I'm the beans!" and the other was yelling "I'm the cheese!" Sam had to explain to him later that it was a thing they did: the Bean and Cheese Burrito game. Sam and his parents were the tortilla.

Sam knelt down and let Stevie climb on his back and Stacey climb on his chest. He stood back up, with both kids hanging on, and said, "Mom and dad, this is my boyfriend, Blaine."

Blaine shook their hands. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Evans. Mr. Evans."

They told him to call them Mary and Dwight. "Come on in," Mrs. Evans said. "You'll be in the kids' room."

Blaine opened the trunk, but before he could grab the luggage, Sam's dad had it all and was carrying it into the house.

"Sam, mom said me and Stevie can camp out in the yard if you'll set the tent up for us!" Stacey said.

"Hmm, I don't know," Sam said. "What are you guys gonna do if you see Bigfoot?"

"Everyone knows Bigfoot's territory is uninhabited areas," Stevie said seriously.

Blaine followed Sam's dad to the kids' room and started to unpack. Except there wasn't an empty drawer or anything, and he didn't know where the bathroom was so he didn't know where to put his toothbrush and gel and whatnot. So he just put everything back in the suitcase. Sam walked up behind him and put his arms around his waist. "See? I told you they're nice."

"I never thought they wouldn't be."

"But you were nervous."

Blaine turned around and rested his head on Sam's chest. "Yeah, but only because they're the parents of the boy I can't stop thinking about doing dirty things to."

"Any time you want to actually do those things..." Sam let his hands slide down until they were resting on his boyfriend's ass. He was still being patient, but he didn't want Blaine to think he'd lost interest.

"I know. But right now," Blaine said, taking a step backwards so that Sam's arms fell to his sides, "you have to keep your hands to yourself if you want me to be able to look your parents in the eye."

Sam sighed. "Okay. C'mon. My mom made cookies." He led Blaine to the kitchen, where Stevie and Stacey were sitting, each with two cookies and a glass of milk in front of them, each obviously struggling to wait until they were allowed to eat them. Sam poured a cup of coffee for Blaine and a glass of milk for himself. As soon as they both sat, the kids started devouring their cookies. Sam took one and handed one to Blaine.

"You're not allergic, are you?" Sam's mom asked. The cookies were peanut butter.

"No." Blaine took a bite. "Thank you, these are delicious."

"We really wish we could have driven up to see regionals. Sam tells us you're the star of glee club."

"No, I wouldn't—"

"I didn't say the star. I said he's the best one."

"I wouldn't say that either..."

"Isn't he adorable when he's modest?" Sam asked, smiling widely.

Sam's parents smiled too...a little uncomfortably, Blaine thought. But maybe he was being paranoid. "And you're a...male cheerleader?" Sam's dad asked.

"Well, yes..." He didn't know how to even begin to explain the crazy drama that was Sue Sylvester to Sam's parents.

"Co-captain," Sam said. "Of the national champion team."

"Well, from last year..."

"You'll be national champions again this year," Sam said confidently.

"No," Sam's mom said sharply, startling Blaine. But he quickly realized she was talking to Stevie, who was stealthily reaching for another cookie.

Stevie withdrew his hand. "Sam, could you set up the tent for us now?" he asked.

He asked Blaine quietly, "Are you okay if I...?"

"Yeah, of course," Blaine said, trying to act confident.

"All right, come on, guys. You want a fort or a castle?" Sam asked, leading the kids out the back door.

"Another cookie?" Mrs. Evans offered.

Blaine took one, mainly so he'd have something to do with his hands and mouth. Sam's parents watched him take a couple bites, and he realized his awkwardness around them was stupid. "I know this is probably unexpected for you..."

"No, Sam called and said you were coming," Mr. Evans said.

Blaine shook his head. "No, I meant—"

"We _were_ surprised when Sam told us he was going out with a boy," Mrs. Evans said. "But not because we don't like gay people!"

"It was just surprising because Sam had never shown any...inclination in that direction before," Mr. Evans added.

"But...well, you know how Sam is," his mother said with an indulgent smile.

Blaine was nodding along before he realized he had no idea what that meant. "I'm sorry...?"

"Oh, you know. How he gets excited about something and then he's all in. Like how he made up that superhero persona...Blind, uh..."

"Blond Chameleon," Blaine said.

"Right. And he even made a costume and everything and it was all he could talk about for a while. He doesn't stop to think things through before he dives right in."

"That marriage to Brittany!" Mr. Evans added. "Thank goodness _you_ seem like a level-headed kid."

XOXOXO

"Is it okay if I push the beds together?" Sam asked as they were getting ready to go to bed. "Or would it make you uncomfortable?"

"It would be nice." Blaine knew he should probably think through what Sam's parents had said, and he knew that being physically close to Sam might not be especially conducive to clear thinking, but it was definitely what he wanted. It felt like he needed it, in fact. He helped Sam push. Then he untucked the sheets and blankets where the beds met so they'd be able to touch under the covers.

Blaine took his pajamas out of his suitcase. But then he saw Sam strip to his underwear and get into bed and he decided to do the same. After he neatly repacked the pajamas, of course. He got into the other bed but scooted over so much that he was in Sam's bed, almost of top of him. He pulled the covers over them.

Tracing patterns on Sam's chest and giving him little kisses, he said, "I don't think we should wait anymore."

"Shouldn't wait anymore for what?"

"You know. _It_."

"Really?" Sam pulled Blaine all the way on top of him and looked up into his eyes. "Are you sure? Now?"

"Not _right_ now. I don't think a quick, furtive fuck in your little brother's bed is what you had in mind when you said you wanted our first time to be romantic."

"No, but..." But, fuck, taking it slow had been harder than he'd expected.

"When we get home."

"Like, as soon as we get home, or...?"

"Um...Do you wanna figure out the details right now?" He placed a wet, nibbly kiss under Sam's ear while rolling his hips against him. "Or would you rather...?" He nibbled some more, running his hand down Sam's side and letting it rest at his waistband.

Sam rolled his head to the side to better accommodate Blaine's nibbling. "I guess there'll be plenty of—oh!—plenty of time to talk in the car." He lightly scratched down Blaine's back, sliding his hands under his underwear and cupping his ass. He pulled Blaine toward him while thrusting up against him. The pleasant jolt caused by that first thrust was accompanied by a not-totally-pleasant bite on the neck, but Sam barely registered that. Only enough to make sure Blaine's mouth was occupied elsewhere, namely, with Sam's mouth, before the next thrust.

His hands never left Blaine's ass. He was sort of obsessed with it, actually, and not only because he wanted to get in it so bad. It was just so perfect. It looked amazing and _felt _amazing. It was the exact perfect balance of soft and firm. And it fit in his hands perfectly.

Blaine decided that they both needed their underwear off. He rolled off Sam—who still didn't let go of his ass—and pulled down on his waistband.

Light flooded the room from the hallway and they both froze. "Sammy? Stacey's scared."

"Fuck," Sam whispered. "You have to knock before you walk into someone's room, buddy." Blaine was impressed by how calm he managed to sound.

"But it's my room."

"Yeah, but we have a guest. Close the door and knock, and don't come in until I invite you."

The door closed and there was a quiet knock. "Hold on a minute!" Sam said, scrambling to put some pants on. "I'm sorry," he whispered to Blaine before he opened the door. Blaine pulled the covers up to his nose. "What's up, Stevie?"

"Stacey's scared," he repeated. "Bigfoot is out there."

"Jesus," he whispered. Out loud he said, "He only appears in uninhabited areas, though."

"Come outside and check?"

"Okay. Just a second." He bent down to whisper to Blaine, "This might take a while. There's Kleenex on the dresser if you need to..."

He didn't make it back inside at all that night. Stevie convinced him that he needed to stay because Stacey was _sure_ she'd heard Bigfoot outside. (Stacey herself slept peacefully throughout this exchange.) It was Sam's own fault for joking about Bigfoot in the first place. What the fuck had he been thinking? It took him a long time to get Stevie to calm down, and Sam fell asleep in the tent before his little brother finally crashed, propped up against him.

It was not the most restful night's sleep he ever had—shirtless, with no sleeping bag, nothing but the thin tent floor between him and the cold, hard ground. Not to mention a young boy's arm hitting him in the face every so often. So he found himself up early, drinking coffee in the kitchen with his mother, who had always been an early riser.

She asked him the normal questions about school, about the Hudsons and Hummels. When she asked him about his plans for after graduation he dropped his head on the table. "I haven't heard yet," he said, "from any of the colleges I applied to."

"And did you expect to have heard by now?" She'd never done this before either and had even less idea what to expect than Sam did.

"My friends have mostly heard. Of course, they've all gotten in everywhere they've applied."

"Oh. Not everyone has to go to college, Sam."

"No. I know." Neither of his parents had gone, although his mother had wanted to. He didn't want to imply that he thought less of them or anything. He didn't. He appreciated how hard they had always worked to raise him and his brother and sister.

"Do you have any backup plans? Just in case?"

"Look for a job, I guess."

"Does Mr. Hummel need any help at the tire shop? You have a lot of mechanical aptitude. You don't know everything yet, but you pick that stuff up really quickly."

"He probably doesn't need anyone." He actually thought Burt probably would give him a job if he asked. But with all that that family had already done for Sam... And now that he'd repaid Burt by dating his son's ex... Anyway, what reason would he have to stick around Lima after Blaine and everyone else was gone? "I'd probably look around here. I could move back in, couldn't I?" He felt terrible that he hadn't been helping out this whole year.

"Of course. But there aren't a lot of jobs around here right now."

Sam had noticed on the drive into town that the strip club was still there. He didn't mention this, however. He said, "Or there's always the military."

"Yes...But it's not as if I don't already worry about you enough."

He knew she would worry. He knew Blaine would worry, which was why he hadn't mentioned it to him again. But it actually made a lot of sense. He was in good shape; he didn't see any reason why he couldn't get in. He would be able to send money to his family when they needed it, and when they didn't he could save it. Then when he got out—assuming he survived—he'd have a better chance of getting into college _and _get help paying for it.

He didn't want to talk about it, though.

The coffee wasn't waking him up. He stood and announced that he was going to try to get a little more sleep. "I don't know how you ever get any rest with those two around," he joked.

"Oh, you get used to it. Besides, you were the most difficult."

"I was not!" he protested, although he knew he had been.

"Go back to sleep," she told him. He went into the kids' room, cuddled in next to his warm, sleepy boyfriend, and did just that.


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't that long a drive from Sam's family's house back to Lima, but they were exhausted when it was over.

Their in-car conversation had started out awesome: they discussed their plans for their first time doing _it._ They didn't want to overplan—they each wanted to throw in a few romantic surprises—but they did nail down the important details—except for when. They did decide on the next time Blaine's parents would be out late; they just didn't know when that would be. Soon, they hoped. Blaine was as ready as Sam by now.

But by the time they pulled into the Hudmel driveway, they weren't even speaking.

Things started to go downhill when Blaine mentioned that he was nervous about not having heard from NYADA yet. "Dude, I know you want to go there," Sam snapped, "but you already got into Oberlin and Berklee. So what exactly are you so worried about?"

"Sam," Blaine said, sounding hurt, "why are you calling me dude? And why do you sound pissed off?"

"Because, as you know, I haven't gotten in anywhere."

"You will, though, Sam."

"Yeah? Well you will get into NYADA. There. Does my saying it make it true? Does it make you feel all better?"

"It might make me feel better. If I thought you meant it," Blaine said.

"You're missing the whole point, dude!"

"Well then why don't you tell me what the point is, dude?"

"The point, dude, is that you're going to college in the fall. Oh, there's a slight chance it won't be to your number one first choice school. Very slight, because of course you're going to get in because you're fucking perfect."

"Sam, what the—"

"Whereas some of us are looking at much crappier futures. Do you know what my options are if I don't get into college?"

Blaine didn't answer right away. He wasn't sure if it was a rhetorical question. When he did answer all he could say was, "You will get in."

Sam looked out the window. Blaine was speeding; they were passing everyone. "You have to think that," he said, "because if you face the truth..." Sam watched as they passed several more cars.

"If I face the truth what?"

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the headrest. "Nothing. I'm going to go meet with a recruiter next week."

"A recruiter for what?" Blaine asked. He looked at Sam for longer than he really should have his eyes off the road. "A recruiter for what?"

"What do you think?"

"Sam, not the army. Please."

"No. Not the army."

"Oh, thank—"

"I thought I'd try for the marines first."

Blaine was quiet for a long time, concentrating on the road. Sam was concentrating on—something, apparently: his eyes were closed but he still looked like he was thinking hard.

"I thought after Henry...I thought you stopped considering the army. Or the marines or whatever."

"No," Sam said. "You told me to. Because you don't have to worry about how to support yourself and help your family with no education and no skills. Some of us live in the real fucking world, Blaine."

"Well the real fucking world sucks, Sam. People get killed in the real fucking world."

"Yeah. The real fucking world does suck. A lot more than the possibility of maybe not getting into NYADA."

Blaine turned on the radio. He didn't know why Sam was lashing out at _him_, but he certainly didn't seem to be capable of having a rational discussion at the moment. He turned on the radio and scanned the dial until he found a country station.

"Don't humor me," Sam said.

"Fine." He kept going until he found a pop station. It played about four commercials for every song. By the third time the same mattress commercial came on he turned it off. Sam looked a little calmer, so Blaine decided to try again. "Why don't you come with me? Come to New York or Boston or wherever and we can share an apartment and you can get a job and apply again to different schools—"

"I'm not going to be your kept man," Sam said.

"It won't be like that."

"It would be exactly like that, Blaine. What kind of job am I going to find in New York or Boston that will pay half the rent on an apartment? Unless we live in a total shithole. Do you wanna live in a total shithole, Blaine?"

"If we had to."

"Bullshit. You wouldn't last ten minutes in the kind of apartment I could afford."

"You know what, Sam? Fuck you."

That was the last thing either of them said until Sam got out of the car at the Hudmel house. He stood with the door open and said, "Can you pop open the trunk? I'll call you tomorrow."

Blaine turned off the car and got out. He walked around to the passenger side and wrapped Sam in his arms. "I'm sorry, Sam! I'm so sorry. I was thoughtless and selfish and I never should have..." He couldn't finish. He was crying.

Sam was crying too. He managed to say, "No, I'm sorry. You were only trying to... And I was so..."

They stood there like that, crying into on each other. "You wanna come in for a while?" Sam finally asked.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Sam checked the mail on the way in. He shoved the marines brochure that had come for him in between one of Kurt's catalogs and one of Carole's magazines before dropping the whole pile on an end table.

XOXOXO

"I hope you all had a relaxing break," Mr. Schuester told the glee club, "because from now until nationals we are g+oing to be busting our asses."

"Blaine," Tina whispered. He didn't turn, so she tried it slightly louder: "Blaine!"

"Tina," Mr. Schue said, exasperated. "I'm telling you guys we have to buckle down and you're trying to conduct a side conversation. So go ahead, now that you've interrupted, and tell all of us whatever it is that's so important."

Tina stood at the front of the choir room and announced, "I got accepted to Northwestern!" She let out a happy shriek and bounced up and down.

Mr. Schue relented a little. "That's great news, Tina. Congratulations! Now, the theme—"

"Tay-Tay, that's so awesome!" Blaine jumped up and hugged her. Soon most of the class was up, hugging and congratulating her. Even Sam—he was sincerely happy for her.

"Yay, you and Mike can get back together!" Sugar said.

"No, but that's not why—"

"Is Mike coming back to work on choreography with us again?"

"No, I thought Brittany was."

"Sam, Brittany's coming back, right?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "I asked her about it and I don't think she really answered." She had said something about singing whales and if bananas could dance and usually Sam could figure out what she was talking about, but this time he was clueless.

"She's not," Mr. Schuester said, "and neither is Mike. So, Jake, I'm putting you in charge of choreography..."

It was late when Mr. Schue let them go. Sam had called Carole during a break and told her he'd get himself something to eat, but she said she'd wait. She told him to bring Blaine over for dinner too.

"Carole?" Sam called as they walked in.

"I'm in the kitchen, Sam. Why don't you and Blaine come into the dining room?"

Sam hung up his jacket and Blaine's and they went to the dining room. The table wasn't set yet; it was empty except for a thick envelope addressed to Sam. From Bowling Green State. "Ca...Carole?"

She stepped out of the kitchen. "Open it," she said softly.

Sam looked at Blaine, who said, "Thick envelopes are usually good."

He carefully opened the envelope, glanced at Blaine one more time, and slowly pulled out the letter on the top. He read the first paragraph, face impassive, and read it again. Blaine watched him, waiting. Neither of them breathed.

Then Sam suddenly and loudly exhaled. He picked Blaine up and spun him around in circles. "Does this mean you got in?" Blaine asked.

"I got in!" He spun them around a bunch more times, until Blaine was pretty dizzy. He stopped spinning but didn't let go before he added, "There's something about a financial aid package, but..."

"Can I?" Carole asked before she took the letter out of his hand and read it. "You'll need to talk about this with your parents, but it looks very generous."

Sam set Blaine down and picked Carole up instead. She shrieked as he spun her. "I got in! I got in!"

Sam smiled all through dinner. Blaine and Carole did too—they couldn't have not even if they hadn't been genuinely happy for him, because Sam's smile was so damn infectious.

Blaine decided, although he didn't mention it yet because he didn't want to take the focus off Sam, that if he didn't get into NYADA, if he had to choose between Berklee and Oberlin, he would pick Oberlin. It was a really good school, plus he would only be a couple hours' drive away from Sam. He might even pick Oberlin over NYADA, if NYADA became an option. Up until now he had assumed he would jump at the chance to go to NYADA if he got it, but he wasn't sure anymore.

While they were washing the dishes, Blaine said, "I'm just _so _happy for you, Sam. You really deserve this."

"It's not as good as school as whichever one you'll go to, but, yeah. I'm happy too. And I totally should have listened to you when you said I'd get in somewhere."

"Obviously. But I wasn't going to say that." He set the plate he was rinsing in the dish rack and pulled Sam's head down so he could whisper to him. "You look so hot when you're all happy like this. Do you know how much I've been dying to blow you all night?"

Sam looked at him, surprised, not sure how serious he was. Totally serious, he could see. "Gosh. I don't want you to die."

Blaine pulled him into the pantry. The door didn't lock, but it opened inward, so if Sam were leaning against it they couldn't be walked in on. It was small, just a closet really, and there wasn't really any room to move around. Blaine pulled the cord to turn the light on—it was just a bulb hanging from the ceiling—not because it helped set the mood or anything but because he was afraid they'd knock jars off the shelves otherwise.

Blaine's hands were still wet from the dishwashing when he unzipped Sam's jeans and pushed them down to his knees. The boxers went down next, almost immediately, after only the briefest grope through the fabric. Blaine enjoyed kissing and touching and making out as much as the next guy, but right now he really just wanted Sam's dick in his mouth.

Sam wasn't even hard yet when Blaine started, but Blaine's ministrations got him there soon enough. He never knew anyone could be that eager to _give_ a blowjob. And, fuck, Blaine was so good at it. His tongue was practically everywhere, and where his tongue couldn't reach his hands could. His lips formed a tight seal around Sam's cock, and when he sucked Sam could feel his juices being drawn out of him. He didn't last long—he didn't think he could have if he tried.

He barely was able to warn Blaine that he was about to come, but that wasn't why Blaine didn't move his head away. He wanted Sam to come in his mouth more than anything. Even so, he was a little surprised by how forcefully it shot into his mouth. It didn't faze him, though; he kept swallowing and sucking and massaging until Sam went limp.

"God, Blaine, that was so..." Sam needed to pause to catch his breath before continuing to speak. "Just give me a minute and I'll..."

"Just relax, Sam. I got this."

Sam leaned heavily against the door. The only thing keeping him standing was the fact that there was nowhere he could possibly fall over without seriously injuring himself and Blaine. He felt a hand grip the back of his thigh, and when he looked down he saw Blaine still on his knees, furiously jerking himself. He gasped and tightened his grip on Sam's thigh, and when he started to come he latched onto the thigh and started sucking, just to have something quiet to do with his mouth. Sam sleepily watched him coming all over his hand while giving him a leg hickey and realized he had the hottest, most gorgeous boyfriend ever.

Not to mention the sweetest and most considerate. Blaine knew how wiped out Sam always was post-orgasm, so he insisted on finishing the dishes while Sam took a quick nap. "You're seriously the best, Blaine," Sam said. "I love you so much." He had really wanted to say that in a more romantic setting than a closet, after getting a blowjob, but there it was.

Blaine smiled at him. "I love you too," he said. "Now let's get out of this pantry before Carole starts looking for us.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam was lying on his side on the couch, with Blaine sitting on the floor in front of him. They were watching _The Avengers_, but Sam was distracted by Blaine's hair. He had persuaded him to not gel it for once, and it was so beautiful. He couldn't keep his hands out of it. And of course his thoughts strayed to how he'd like to grab a handful of it while they were doing something more interesting than watching a movie. But Blaine's mom was in the kitchen, so it was best to keep their minds on _The Avengers _as much as possible.

And then Blaine had to go and tell him about the Science Bros. And pause the movie to show him some Science Bros art. And damn if the images of Tony and Bruce making out didn't do something to him. Especially since he could pretty easily imagine Blaine as Tony and himself as Bruce.

So as soon as Blaine's mom left to pick up a few things at the grocery store, Sam was off the couch, straddling and kissing Blaine on the floor. "Aren't your parents planning a night out soon?" he asked desperately.

"I don't know! They usually go out a lot more than they have been lately. I think we need a backup plan."

They both felt a little weird about the idea of using the Hudmel house, Sam because he was a guest there and Blaine because of his past with Kurt. Not that these qualms had kept them from other stuff—the pantry blowjob, for example—but it just didn't seem right for their first time doing _it._

"Nationals?" Sam said. It was still over two weeks away, and while that was longer than either of them wanted to wait, there was no guarantee they were going to get the chance any sooner at Blaine's. And he was pretty sure they'd be able to arrange to get one of the hotel rooms to themselves for a while. Everyone would know what they were doing, but so what? Everyone probably assumed they were already doing it.

"Nationals," Blaine agreed, pulling Sam's shirt off.

They were both shirtless and mussed and hickeyed, Sam grinding into Blaine's lap, when Blaine's mom walked in and loudly cleared her throat. "Mom!" Blaine said, prying Sam's lips off his chest. "You're home."

"Yes, Captain Obvious," she said, causing Sam to laugh. He was just thinking Mrs. Anderson wasn't that bad, until she added, "It's time for Sam to go home."

So he did, reluctantly, and as soon as he got there, Carole asked if she could talk to him for a minute. He really just needed to go to his room—well, Kurt's room—and jerk off, but of course he couldn't tell Carole that. He sat on the couch across from her. "What's up?"

"Kurt's last final is in a couple days."

Sam didn't like where this was going. "And he's coming home for the summer?"

"Not the whole summer. Just until nationals. Mr. Schuester asked Rachel and him to help you guys out."

Fucking Mr. Schuester! But if it would help them win nationals... Besides, this was Kurt's house. He had every right to be there whenever he wanted. "Cool," he said. "I'll just move into Finn's room. Unless...is he moving back in for the summer?"

"He is. But his semester goes a little longer than NYADA's. There will only be a couple nights of Kurt and Finn both being here. We'll figure something out."

Sam could think of an ideal solution. But, unfortunately, he was pretty sure Blaine's parents wouldn't like the idea of him moving in there for a couple weeks. Blaine asked them, though, even though he was also pretty sure they wouldn't like it. And they didn't.

The worst thing about the prospect of sharing a house with Kurt for a couple weeks was that he had no idea what to expect. He knew that Kurt had told Blaine he didn't want to talk to him for a while, and Blaine hadn't tried to. He hadn't specifically said he didn't want to talk to Sam for a while, but Sam assumed it. But it was going to be hard not to talk at all while living together, and anyway maybe it had been a long enough while? It was obvious they'd have to talk at least once, just to figure out where things stood.

It didn't seem quite as obvious to Kurt, however. It wasn't even late when he got to the house, only around ten, but as soon as he saw Sam in the living room he announced he was exhausted and was going to bed. And then in the morning, he wasn't even up before Sam had to leave for school.

So, okay, he didn't want to talk at all. Sam could do that, he guessed, make himself scarce around the house for a couple weeks.

It was a little ridiculous, though, when Kurt insisted on only talking to the girls in glee. He led them out to the auditorium, leaving Rachel to coach the guys in the choir room.

She started by announcing that Blaine was going to have to carry all the guys vocally. There were, predictably, some protests from the other guys. "Hey, I'm telling you what you need to win," she said. "Blaine has the best voice, and he's the most charismatic." There were more protests.

"Shut up, guys," Sam said. "Rachel's right and we all know it."

"Said the guy who's boning him," Ryder said. "I can't believe I let myself get talked into rejoining just so I could be insulted."

"No one's insulting you," Rachel said. "Singing backup is very important. Besides, you're going to be the stage right eye candy."

"Who's the stage left eye candy?" Artie asked.

"White Chocolate. Obviously," Sam said, demonstrating his body roll.

"Right," Rachel said. "Sam, why don't you teach Ryder how to do that?"

"I already know—"

"Come on, dude," Sam said, pulling him over to a corner.

Blaine went to stand next to Rachel. "Is he going to avoid me and Sam the whole time he's here?" he asked quietly.

"He kept telling me he was fine with seeing you guys. I guess he feels differently now that he actually has."

"Hey, Rach," Sam called over. "Do you want me and Ryder to take off our shirts during the final number?"

"Sam!" Blaine said.

"Um, as lovely as that would be," Rachel said, "I think the judges might consider it a bit too risqué."

Blaine ran out of practice a few minutes early so he could talk to Kurt before he disappeared. He stood in the wings watching Kurt watching Unique kill her solo—and that was without a dress or a wig or anything. "Impressive," Kurt said, nodding. "Just keep doing _that_."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Please tell me Mr. Schuester didn't pay to fly you out here just to tell us to do what we're already doing."

"Oh no," Kurt said. "One, Mr. Schue didn't pay for it, and, two, I can tell you plenty of things _you_ need to do differently." He looked at his watch. "You'll get my full list tomorrow."

The group broke up and Blaine stepped out from behind the curtain. "Kitty can be a bit..."

"Tell me about it," Kurt said.

They stood a couple feet apart, half-smiling at each other. "Can we talk?" Blaine finally asked. "Say, over coffee?"

"Just you and me?"

"I was thinking Sam too."

"Yeah, I had a feeling." Kurt sat down on the stage, legs dangling over the edge, and Blaine joined him. "I have to admit, I didn't expect you guys to still be together by now."

"I'm kinda surprised too," Blaine said. "In an 'I can't believe my good luck' kind of way."

"So you're happy?"

Blaine tried not to smile too broadly when he said, "Really happy."

"Happier than...No, never mind."

Blaine knew what he had been about to ask and was glad he'd changed his mind. "Come on." He stood and held his hand out to help Kurt up. "Come to the Lima Bean with us."

Kurt took his hand and held onto it for a second or two longer than he needed to after he was already standing. "I don't know, Blaine. I have no idea how to talk to Sam now."

"But aren't you kinda going to have to talk to him since you're staying in his house for a couple weeks?"

"Excuse me!? _He _is staying in _my _house."

"Right. Sorry. That's what I meant."

"Finn and I invited him to move in with us when—"

"I know. It was my mistake. Believe me, it's not a mistake Sam _ever _makes. He's really grateful to your family."

Kurt adjusted his jacket and picked a piece of lint off it. "I guess I could have some coffee with you guys. If you still remember my order."

"Of course."

"And I suppose you know Sam's too now?"

"Of course."

"Of course," Kurt echoed.

The three of them took separate cars to the Lima Bean; Kurt was the last one there. He arrived to find his nonfat mocha waiting for him on the table. He also found Sam holding Blaine's hand and whispering in his ear, though he stopped doing both as soon as he spotted Kurt. He even stood until Kurt sat down. "Hey, Kurt."

"Hey, Sam." Kurt gave him a weak smile.

"So, are we okay? Cause if we're not, I talked to Artie and he said I could stay with him for a couple weeks. I can't really skip glee practice from now until nationals, but..."

"Don't be ridiculous. We're okay. Of course we're okay."

Sam smiled. "Cool." He held out his fist.

"Really, Sam? You want me to fist bump you?"

"What? Hey, if Michelle Obama can do it..."

"Fine." Kurt bumped his fist and then turned to Blaine. "So, which colleges have you heard from?"

Blaine decided to interpret the _you_ as plural. "Well, Sam has been accepted at three schools."

"Oh." Kurt looked at him and smiled. "Congratulations. Which ones?"

Sam smiled hugely, even though he knew Kurt was really only interested in where Blaine was going. "Bowling Green, Eastern Kentucky, and Wilmington."

"Wilmington? Isn't that Quaker?"

"Yeah," Blaine said. He had refrained from pointing out that it was a bit odd that someone who was considering a Quaker college was also—_had_ also been—considering joining the military. Hopefully if Sam ended up going there he'd become a devoted pacifist and then Blaine would never, ever have to worry again about him joining the army. Or the marines or whatever. Of course, Wilmington was by far the most expensive of the three, so Sam probably wouldn't end up there anyway, unless an amazing scholarship came through.

"Why'd you apply to Eastern Kentucky?" Kurt asked.

"I applied to a couple state schools in Kentucky and a couple in Ohio," Sam said. He had been rejected by Ohio State and the University of Kentucky. "Ms. Pillsbury, uh, Pillsbury-Schuester said I should try both since it wasn't totally clear which state would consider me a resident for in-state tuition."

"Oh. And which one will?"

"She's still working on that for me. Hopefully at least one of them."

"Oh, I'm sure one of them will. You obviously live somewhere, right? What about you, Blaine?"

"Oberlin and Berklee."

"Two e's in Boston, right? Not –ey in California?"

"Right."

"And NYADA?"

"I still haven't heard." It was getting late, and not having heard yet was not a good sign. It was a relief, in a way, because if he didn't even get in, he wouldn't have to choose between NYADA and being close to Sam. "I've pretty much decided on Oberlin anyway." Though he might end up rethinking the whole thing if Sam ended up at Eastern Kentucky, which he hoped wouldn't happen.

"Because...?" Kurt glanced meaningfully at Sam.

"Because it's an amazing school," Blaine said firmly. He'd been trying to convince Sam that he would never give up his dreams to be close to him, and the last thing he needed was for Kurt to put that idea back in his head.

"_NYADA_ is an amazing school," Kurt said.

"I'm sure it is. I'm glad you're happy there. I probably didn't even get in." And that was about as much as Blaine felt like talking about NYADA with Kurt. "You're not going to split up the boys and girls for the rest of practices, are you? Because we really need to practice together."

"No, I'm not going to split you up for every practice, Blaine. You know who you need to do a duet with? Unique. I forgot how amazing she is. Marley's got a great voice, but she doesn't have the stage presence."

They talked about glee for a while longer, and then Kurt announced he had to go meet with Tina to talk about costumes. The three of them walked out to the parking lot together. Kurt opened his door and then turned to look at Blaine. "You know, if you do get into NYADA... I don't want to tell you what to do, but if you turned down a chance to go there, you would regret it the rest of your life."

After he drove away Blaine put his arms around Sam. "God, Kurt is so..."

Sam kissed Blaine's forehead. "I know. But he's right about NYADA."


	10. Chapter 10

Los Angeles!

Sam had never been west of the Mississippi before, although he had been to Memphis a few times, and that was _on _the Mississippi. Blaine had been to California with his family, but the closest he'd ever been to L.A. was Disneyland.

They got in at night, but they had the whole next day before the competition started. Unfortunately it was scheduled pretty tightly: rehearsing all morning, lunch together at the hotel, sightseeing together all afternoon, dinner together at some restaurant no one had ever heard of, then back to the hotel for one hour of free time—to be spent _in _the hotel—and then bed and lights out.

The rehearsal went well but it was tiring, especially so for Sam. He had shared a bed with Blaine the night before, which was distracting. Artie and Joe were in the same room as them, so they hadn't been able to do anything more than a little discreet kissing and some blatant spooning. If they'd been able to do more, they would have fallen asleep right away afterward. On top of which, Sam had already had three nearly sleepless nights before that. Finn was home from college and Sam had to sleep on the hideaway, which was extremely uncomfortable for anyone taller than about 5'4".

After lunch the New Directions barely had time to go to the bathroom before getting on one of those double-decker buses for a tour of Hollywood. And it was fun. Blaine sort of felt like he should look down on it as a very unsophisticated touristy thing to do. But everyone else was enjoying it, including Sam, who was adorably excited when the Hollywood sign first came into view. They sat together on the top of the bus holding hands, and after a while Sam pulled Blaine onto his lap "to get a better view," although the view had been just fine where he was.

The bus let them off at the Chinese theater—the one with all the handprints in the cement—and they were going to spend a little time there and then walk to a nearby restaurant for dinner. "Let's get out of here," Blaine said to Sam. He'd been waiting for his chance and this seemed like it. "There's somewhere I want to take you."

"Mr. Schue will be pissed."

"Yeah, but what's he gonna do? Not let us sing tomorrow?"

"What if he calls the police because he thinks we've been kidnapped?"

"I'll send him a text so he knows we're all right," Blaine said. "Come on. Do you trust me?"

The question that needed no answer, because duh. It was really crowded outside the theater, what with tourists taking pictures and looking around for actual celebrities (because _obviously _this was where they all probably hung out), so they were able to get in a cab without anyone noticing. Blaine asked the driver to take them to the Santa Monica Pier. He waited until they were a few blocks away before taking out his phone to text Mr. Schue. "What should I say?" he asked Sam.

"Something innocent, like what you'd say if we didn't know we weren't supposed to leave the group. He'll text back that we have to turn around and come back, but, darn, your phone battery died and you didn't see it."

"You are really devious, Sam." He typed a message to Mr. Schue and read it out loud before sending it. "Sam and I are going to dinner on our own. Hope that's okay. See you back at the hotel."

"Take out the 'Hope that's okay' part. We gotta convince him that we had no idea it might not be okay. In fact...delete that whole message. If we're gonna play dumb, it'll be more convincing coming from my phone."

"Sam, you're not—"

"It's okay, Blaine. Sometimes I can use what people think of me to my advantage." He sent the text to Mr. Schuester and then turned off his phone.

"Even if you're right, how are we gonna explain how I didn't know any—" Blaine's phone rang; it was Mr. Schue. "Shit! What do I do?"

"Answer like normal but hang up before he has a chance to really say anything. Then turn it off."

Blaine answered. "Hey, Mr. Schue. Sam and I are—" He hung up and turned the phone off. "Darn! Dropped call!" he said, and they both broke into a giggling fit.

"And we are going to say that this was all _my_ idea, and the only reason you went along with it is that you were so blinded by love that you couldn't think straight. I mean—rationally."

Blaine unbuckled his seatbelt, scooted over to Sam's side of the backseat, and rested his head on his shoulder. "It's true, you know. I am so in love with you that I can't think rationally."

"I can tell. The rational thing to do would be to leave your seatbelt on." He kissed Blaine sweetly. "You know, rational thinking was never my strong suit to begin with, but I'm crazy in love with you too."

When the cab let them out, they both just stood there for a minute, taking it all in. "Wow," Sam said. "I mean...wow! That's the ocean! That's the Pacific freakin' Ocean! This is so worth it even if Mr. Schue does yell at us."

"But your devious plan..." Blaine said.

"Yeah, well it's not _guaranteed_ to work. Come on, can we go in the water? I've never been in an ocean!"

"No!"

"Just a little. We'll take our shoes and socks off and roll up our pants and just wade in a little bit."

"We can," Blaine said, "but not yet." He turned his phone on to check the time. "We have to get in line for the Ferris wheel right away." He took Sam's hand and led him, running, to the end of the pier. He bought four tickets and they got in line.

"We're riding twice?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. I mean we probably won't _have_ to if you don't want. The second set is so just in case we need them we won't have to stand in the ticket line again." His phone rang. It was Finn.

"You forgot to turn your phone off again," Sam observed. If Blaine's mom were there, he thought, she'd call him Captain Obvious. But, no, that was Blaine, so Sam would probably be whatever's below a captain. Lieutenant Obvious?

But Blaine said he hadn't forgotten; he needed the phone's timer. He just silenced it and set it to send all calls to voicemail.

The line was long and slow. Blaine started timing stuff and doing calculations almost immediately. He held Sam's hand the whole time, but he wasn't totally with him mentally. But that was okay. Whatever he was doing was obviously important to him, and Sam didn't want to distract him.

Sam played that game with himself where you look at a random group of people and decide, if you had to pick one and only one, which one would you sleep with? But even though there were plenty of good-looking people around (and plenty of not-so-good-looking ones too, of course), he could only think about sleeping with Blaine. They were still waiting for _it_. And since a couple extra nights weren't going to hurt, they'd agreed to wait until after their performance. Just in case there was any soreness afterward that might affect the choreography.

When they were almost at the front of the line, with only about six groups in front of them, Blaine turned and smiled at the woman standing behind him. She had three kids with her, the youngest of whom was getting _very_ restless from standing in line. "Would you like to go before us?" he asked.

She smiled but shook her head. "Oh, thanks, but we couldn't."

"No, seriously, you'd actually be doing us a favor. Otherwise we won't be ready when it's our turn."

"Yeah, please," Sam said.

"Oh, really, we're fine..."

"I'm completely serious that we want you to go first. In fact, I was about to ask the group behind you to go before us too." The group behind them—two couples about their age or a little older—had been listening and didn't have any qualms about moving ahead in the line, so Blaine and Sam moved and stood behind them. The woman with the kids thanked them profusely.

"That was so nice," Sam whispered in his ear. "You are so sweet."

"_You're_ sweet to think the best of me and say that," Blaine whispered back, "but I'm actually being selfish." He looked at his phone again and let the next two groups go before them too.

When it was finally their turn and they got to the top of the Ferris wheel, Sam saw why. The view was spectacular, and it featured by far the most beautiful sunset he had ever seen. The clouds and the sky and the water were brilliant shades of purple and pink and orange. "I can't believe you timed it so perfectly," he whispered.

"I'm pretty surprised it worked out, actually," Blaine said.

"This is the nicest...You're the best...I love you."

They didn't make it back to the hotel until about an hour after lights-out time. They probably would have been on time, more or less, except Sam really wanted to go in the ocean, and the water was nice and it was the _ocean_ and what were they supposed to do? Walk in up to their ankles and then turn around and leave right away? When would they have another chance like this? And then they had that second set of tickets for the Ferris wheel, and now that it was dark the city probably looked amazing with all the lights, and it _did_ look amazing with all the lights, and they kissed at the top, and they couldn't regret any of it even if it did make them a little late.

Joe and Artie were in bed when they walked into the room—Joe was in _their _bed!—but Artie was awake playing games on his phone. "You guys are in so much trouble," he sang. "You better go to Mr. Schue and Finn's room."

"What makes you think we didn't already talk to them?" Sam asked.

"Because I didn't hear any yelling."

Blaine grabbed Sam's hand and clutched it tightly before they knocked. Finn opened the door and all but growled at them, "Get in here!"

"Is that them?" Mr. Schue called from the bathroom. He stepped out and looked at them, and his face turned red with rage before he even started yelling. "What the hell did you guys think you were doing, going off like that on your own? Not telling anyone where you were? Not answering our phone calls?"

This was where the story about their phones' batteries dying could have gone, but neither one of them could bring themselves to say it. It didn't seem like Mr. Schue was likely to buy it anyway.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is, two kids wandering off in a strange city? At night? It is almost midnight! Do you know how close I was to having to call your parents and try to explain this? How close I was to having to call the _police_?"

Blaine and Sam glanced at each other, then down at the carpet.

"Do you have any idea how stupid that was? How irresponsible? I've always put a lot of trust in you kids, but this just shows me that..." He lowered his voice and continued, "...that that trust was misplaced. I never expected something like this from either of you." He stared at Blaine, then at Sam. "Well? What do you have to say?"

"We're sorry," they said.

"You're sorry? You're _sorry_!? Get the hell out of here and go to bed. Finn, would you walk the children to their room, please?" It was only two doors down, but they didn't try to object.

Finn led them out into the hall. "That was seriously not cool, guys," he said. They nodded and went into their room.

"How'd it go?" Artie asked.

"Pretty well, I guess," Sam said. "Nothing got thrown."

"We're not off the team," Blaine added.

"You would have been if it wouldn't have disqualified us from competition," Artie said. "Or at least that's what Mr. Schue said during his rant at dinner."

"Well, thank God we have just enough members to qualify," Blaine said.

"Artie, dude, we're going to sleep," Sam said. "You gotta move to the other bed."

"Uh...no."

"Suit yourself, but I'm a very cuddly sleeper," Sam told him.

"No! I don't mind sharing with Joe. He's quiet at least and doesn't move around too much. But I need to sleep here. It's the only place my wheelchair will fit next to."

They tried to wake Joe up to tell him to move, but he was out cold, so Sam just picked him up and deposited him in Artie's bed. They changed into PJs and brushed their teeth and then curled up in bed, with Sam as the big spoon and Blaine as the little spoon. Right before they fell asleep, Sam whispered, "I don't care what Finn says. I thought tonight seriously _was_ cool."

"Me too," Blaine whispered back.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam got a call from Brittany while the New Directions were waiting to go on. "Hey, Mr. Pierce!" she said. Sam laughed. She hadn't called him that since their fake marriage was annulled. She thought the spouses swapped last names when they got married.

"Hey, Mrs. Evans! How's it going?"

"Awesome. I'm acing all my tests since they invented a Scantron machine just for me that reads crayon. And I'm gonna be home for the summer next week."

"That's great! You'll come see us, right? Can I tell everyone?"

"Sure."

He moved the phone away from his mouth. "Hey, guys! Brittany's gonna be home next week!" He wasn't sure who, if anyone, had heard him, but he told her, "Everyone's really excited."

"So I called to wish you good luck at nationals, unless I'm too late. Have you gone on yet?"

"Soon. A group from Utah is just finishing, and then it's a group from Chicago and then it's us."

"Are you nervous?"

"I do have some butterflies in my stomach," Sam admitted.

"No way! I have those lately too! Do you remember swallowing any caterpillars? Because I don't. I hope they didn't get in the other way," she said.

Sam squirmed at the thought of caterpillars crawling up his... "I'm pretty sure you'd remember that if they had."

"Well tell everyone I said good luck and I love them and miss them. Especially you."

"I love you and miss you too, Britt."

The New Directions' performance was flawless. Not even bragging: it was literally without flaws. Blaine and Unique had amazing chemistry on stage. Sam might have been worried, in fact, if Unique were a guy. There was something going on between Jake and Ryder, too, which was...interesting. And Sam even did a little eye flirting with one of judges, who he could tell was totally smitten with him.

And so of course they won. They won third place, that is. It wasn't exactly what they wanted, but they still got a pretty big trophy. And the first and second place teams were genuinely amazing and didn't even seem like assholes. It wasn't as if they lost to slimeballs like Vocal Adrenaline or the Warblers (under Hunter Clarington's leadership).

So most of the kids were in pretty good spirits when it was over. Some of them were solicitous of Blaine at first, figuring that of the seniors he was the one who the—not the _loss_, but the not coming in first—would matter to the most. And they were probably right. But tonight was the night for him and Sam—it would have taken a lot more than a third-place finish to dampen his spirits.

After dinner together at the hotel, they all went back to their rooms. Blaine and Sam traded keys with Ryder and Jake, who had lucked into getting only each other as roommates—and therefore didn't have to share a bed—but who were nice enough to double up for the last night and share a room with Artie and Joe so Blaine and Sam could have one night alone.

Before they went in, Blaine and Sam stood outside the door and smiled at each other with anticipation. Artie, as he was about to roll into his room next door, told them, "Have fun, you guys, but remember other people are going to be trying to sleep."

When they had the hallway to themselves, Sam said, "I know it's stupid, but would you mind if I carry you in?"

"No, that's sweet," Blaine said. "As long as you know it doesn't mean we're actually married."

"Hey, do I have to remind you which one of us has actually been married? I know how this stuff works." He picked Blaine up and kissed him as he carried him into the room.

Blaine looked around the room and gasped. The lights were off and the room was lit with every candle Sam had been able to find in the Hudmel house plus a dozen he had purchased. They had taken up most of his suitcase, in fact. "Sam! It's beautiful! When did you put them out and light them all?"

"Jake and Ryder helped me out. Weren't you wondering where they disappeared to during dinner?"

"I kinda thought they were making out, actually," Blaine said.

It wasn't that crazy an idea. Marley had broken up with Jake a few weeks ago and neither of them told anyone why. "Oh my God, I think you're right," Sam said. "Look, one of them bought the other one roses."

"Those are actually from me to you. I had the hotel bring them up."

"Aw, Blaine!" Sam set him down so he could pick up the vase and smell them. "No one's ever bought me red roses before! Or any other color. Thank you!"

"It was kind of a stupid gesture, since you won't be able to take them home."

"The hell I won't!"

"You can't just shove them in your suitcase. You'd have to carry them the whole time. Without letting them dry out, and you can't even bring water through security."

"So? I'll dump the water out of the vase before we go through security and refill it on the other side. I'm not leaving them here!"

"I love you, Sam." He pulled Sam's head toward his own. When their lips met it was like he was discovering for the first time how soft they were, how warm, how they were somehow comfortable and electrifying at the same time. He was filled with a sudden need to taste Sam, starting with his gorgeous lips, and then his tongue—oh God, his tongue!—and next his jaw and his ear.

He was furiously unbuttoning Sam's shirt, listening to him moan in appreciation, when he felt Sam's hands on his hips, pulling him closer. "God, I want you so bad, Blaine." Blaine took a step backward. "I'm sorry!" Sam said. "That wasn't a very romantic thing to say! I just—"

Blaine stopped him from talking with a kiss. "It was a perfect thing to say." He removed the bedspread from one of the beds. "Those things are gross," he explained. "I just wanted to pull you down onto clean sheets."

He didn't get the chance to pull Sam down, though, because Sam was pushing him and landing on top of him. They managed to get each other's shirts off and Sam started trailing kisses down his chest while undoing his pants. And then Blaine forgot all about his pants, all about everything except the feeling of Sam's mouth on his cock, and fuck if that didn't just turn him to quivering mass of Jello. "Oh, God, Sam, that's so..."

"Blaine?" He only realized Sam was talking to him because it meant his mouth wasn't on his dick anymore. But his hand was, so it was still a little difficult to concentrate on words. "Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are the supplies?"

"The...? Oh! In my pocket. Where are my pants?"

"On the floor," Sam said, gesturing toward the foot of the bed.

Blaine rolled over and maneuvered himself to the edge. It was kind of a high bed, so he had to dangle his head and shoulders over to reach them. He got the lube and condoms out and was about to scoot back up when he felt Sam's hands kneading his ass. "So beautiful," Sam said. "Do you mind staying on your stomach while I get you ready?"

"Just let me get my head up."

Sam helped him move back and put a pillow under his head. Blaine's ass, God. So beautiful. He'd already said that, but he still couldn't stop thinking it. He squirted some lube into his hand and rubbed it around a little to warm it up. He spread Blaine's legs a little, spread his cheeks apart, and, oh Jesus. He worked the lube all around the outside first, so happy when Blaine gasped at the fingers brushing over his entrance.

Blaine had told him they'd have to be careful, that it had been a long time since he bottomed and that he hadn't done it that often. Even though Blaine said that wasn't because he didn't like it, Sam couldn't help but suspect that it was. But now Blaine was rolling his hips against the bed and saying, "That's so good, Sam. Now inside. Please."

Sam obliged him after squirting a little more lube on his fingers. He slowly slid one finger in, Blaine moaning the whole time. Blaine rocked against it and was soon asking Sam to add another, and then a third. Blaine had warned him that this process took a long time, but it was hardly a bother. Blaine was obviously enjoying it so much, and the noises he was making were incredibly hot and dirty. The only thing that made it seem like it took a long time was that Sam's cock was so hard and aching and needed some relief.

So when Blaine said, "I'm ready, Sam," Sam was more than ready too. Blaine whined when he pulled his fingers out. He eagerly turned onto his back and spread his legs, holding his knees to his chest. Sam wouldn't have thought a second ago that he could possibly want Blaine more than he already did, but seeing him like this, presenting his most intimate self to him...Jesus. And then when Blaine looked in his eyes and said, "Please take me, Sam," Sam thought he would die. Blaine was so, so perfect. Everything about this was perfect.

He rolled a condom on, covered himself in lube, and lined himself up at Blaine's welcoming entrance. As he entered Blaine and slowly sank in, both boys moaned loudly. The sensation of finally being inside Blaine was indescribable, and anyway he couldn't think in words.

Blaine couldn't remember why they'd waited to do this. Why would they ever want to do anything else? Sam's cock felt perfect in him. Perfect. And then when it moved in him it felt even better. How could it be better than perfect? Blaine didn't care how; it just was.

They easily found a rhythm of rocking together. Blaine hooked his legs around Sam's back and used them to pull Sam deeper into him. Every time Sam's cock touched his prostate he let out a little yelp, each one just a bit louder than the last.

The yelping—Sam knew that was going to be his undoing. He wasn't going to last long. He had to make Blaine come before he lost it. He groped around for the lube. When he found it he squirted some in his hand and rubbed it on Blaine's cock.

Blaine had his eyes closed, and the sudden feel of the cool liquid and Sam's warm hand on his cock came as a shock. He jumped, which both pushed his dick harder into Sam's hand and caused Sam's dick to hit him at a new and incredible angle. "Fuck, Sam, I'm gonna..." He pulled the pillow out from under his head and put it over his mouth to scream into.

Sam moved the pillow away. "I wanna hear you when you come. Please."

Blaine trembled and tightened around Sam's cock and he shook and he _screamed_. He grabbed Sam's shoulders; he needed to hold on so he wouldn't...he didn't know what would happen if he didn't hold on, he just needed to. His cock swelled and pulsed in Sam's hand and released his come in ecstatic bursts. At the same time, Sam's cock was expanding inside him and then bursting as Sam pounded into him. Sam's face turned red when he came, and he dropped his head and bit his lip and whined.

Even after they were both spent—and after Blaine's voice had given out—they continued to rock together gently for a little while before Sam went in for a kiss and reluctantly pulled out.

"That was..." Sam said.

And Blaine said, "Uh huh."

"I love you so much, Blaine."


	12. Chapter 12

As Blaine was taking the books he needed to take home out of his locker, Sam sneaked up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. Without turning around, Blaine reached back and touched his cheek. "Hi, Sam."

"I didn't scare you?"

"How do you think I could mistake those lips for anyone else's, even for a second?" He turned and kissed him back. Blaine still didn't like to go crazy or anything—he would never have a full-on make-out session in the school hall—but these modest displays of affection had gone unchallenged since the funeral.

"It felt kind of weird to be back at school today. After nationals, I mean," Sam said.

Blaine put his backpack on and shut his locker. "I know. This morning I was wondering whether people would congratulate us for coming in third or mock us for not coming in first. I kind of wasn't prepared for no reaction at all. It's like...nationals was such a huge deal for us, and now it turns out no one else was apparently aware it was even going on."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "But really, who cares? You were amazing."

"_We_ were amazing," Blaine corrected him. "So are you coming over?"

"Is after dinner okay? I need to mow the lawn for Carole."

"Yeah, sure."

They walked to the parking lot together and kissed good-bye before each drove home. Blaine was the first one home at his house, so he checked the mail before going inside. And there was an envelope addressed to him...from NYADA.

_Of course_ he got an envelope from NYADA today. Because just before leaving for nationals he had given Oberlin his official yes. Not that this was probably an acceptance anyway... And even if it were, his parents hadn't paid the deposit at Oberlin yet, so he could probably cancel. _If _he decided on NYADA, that is.

He couldn't stand to open the letter by himself, so he got back in his car and drove over to see Sam. He found him mowing the lawn shirtless and almost forgot why he'd come over. Almost, but not quite.

Sam was walking toward the back of the house, so he didn't see Blaine, nor could he hear when Blaine yelled to him. So Blaine walked up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. Sam screamed and jumped, and when he landed he was facing Blaine in a sort of karate-like stance. "What the fuck!" he yelled before turning the lawnmower off.

"Sorry!" Blaine said. "I didn't realize _my_ lips have such a generic feel. Like all the other people who apparently kiss you all the time."

"So, did you just come over to scare the shit out of me, or...?"

Blaine held out the envelope.

"Oh my God! Open it!"

"I can't. It could be anything." Blaine couldn't even tell if it was a thick envelope or a thin one. His acceptances, and Sam's too, were definitely thick—they had pamphlets and stuff inside. Sam's rejections had been single sheets. This envelope felt like it had about three sheets inside. What the hell did that mean?

"I guess it could be. You won't know what it is until you open it," Sam said gently.

"Hold my hand?"

Sam took his hand and nodded at him to open it. It's not actually that easy to open an envelope one-handedly, though, so Blaine let go for a minute. He took Sam's hand again before he read the top sheet. He looked up at Sam, dumbfounded.

"Blaine? Blaine if they were too stupid to—"

"I got in."

"You...Blaine!" Sam scooped him up in a giant hug. He forced himself to sound happy. "I knew you'd get in! We have to celebrate!"

He really was happy for Blaine, of course. He knew Blaine had dreamed of this, and he totally deserved it. And it would open so many doors for him. Sam just had to stop thinking of himself, of how they wouldn't be near each other. Because Blaine had to take this—he'd never forgive himself if he passed it up. Just like Kurt said. And Sam would never forgive _him_self if he were the cause of Blaine's passing it up.

"I thought for sure..." Blaine said. "They took so long to..." He reread the letter. "Oh my... They want my answer by _this Friday_."

"Be sure and get it in right away then. You don't want them to give your spot to someone else."

"Don't I?"

"Of course not. You've wanted to go to NYADA since...well, ever since you heard of it."

Sam was right, of course. Right that he'd always wanted to go there, that is. But that was before...well, before Sam. And he'd already had one long-distance relationship fall apart; he didn't want to risk that happening again. But it was NYADA, so...

He had no idea how he was going to decide what to do. In fact, he sort of hoped that, somehow, the decision could be made without him having to make it. To that end, he asked everyone he could think of for their opinion.

Sam, of course, told him to go to NYADA. Even though Blaine could tell from his fake smile that he didn't _really_ want that. Or...he wanted it, but it would make him sad. Would make both of them sad.

His parents said Oberlin. They wanted him to have a "real" degree that would be useful for something other than show business. _Just in case_ that didn't work out or he decided he didn't want to pursue it after all.

Kurt and Rachel told him to go to NYADA. Obviously. And they raved on and on about how much they were learning and how much their skills were improving and everyone they were meeting and how amazing just being in New York was.

Quinn said it was too bad he hadn't applied to any Ivy League schools. Since he hadn't, it really didn't matter where he went to college. Oberlin, she guessed—at least some people who weren't in high school show choir had heard of it.

Mercedes said NYADA. But then, she had left Sam to go to L.A., and look how that turned out for her.

Puck said that college was for losers and he was a sucker for even considering either of them.

Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury-Schuester wouldn't tell him what they thought he should do. They insisted it was his decision and no one else's, which didn't help him in the least. But he was pretty sure they both thought he should pick NYADA.

Finn said that, given his situation with Rachel, he probably couldn't be impartial about NYADA. And besides, if Mr. Schuester wouldn't say what he thought, then he probably shouldn't either.

Artie said NYADA. New York was the creative capital of the world and really the only place worth living after high school.

Tina actually surprised him by saying Oberlin. "You and Sam are great together," she said. "And you and I both know how hard long-distance relationships are." And Mike surprised him even more by saying the same thing.

Unique and Kitty said NYADA. So did Jake, at first, but when Ryder seemed to be leaning toward Oberlin he wavered. Marley said Oberlin.

Lauren said if he was in love with Sam he should be where Sam was.

Santana told him to grow a pair and stop trying to crowdsource his decision.

Joe and Sugar...they never seemed to be around, so he hadn't had a chance to ask them. He would still ask them if he saw them, but he wasn't too concerned about tracking them down. Joe would probably tell him to pray for guidance or something. And Sugar...she would probably tell him to just tell NYADA he was going, pay the deposit on the tuition, and if he changed his mind at the last minute...who cared, it was only money. Blaine realized how desperate he was when he found himself thinking that Sugar's imaginary advice wasn't that dumb.

The only person left to ask was Brittany. He couldn't imagine what kind of bizarre answer she would give, or the "reasoning" behind it. He might not even bother asking her if she weren't going to be visiting the school tomorrow anyway. He didn't want it to seem like she was the only one whose opinion he wasn't interested in.

That night Sam and Blaine had a date at Breadstix. While he was getting dressed for it, Sam got a call from Ms. Pillsbury-Schuester. She had just heard that Bowling Green State _would_ consider him a resident and she wanted to let him know right away. He thanked her and sat down, half dressed, on his bed.

He knew he would choose Bowling Green over Eastern Kentucky, even if it turned out that he could also be considered a Kentucky resident. And Blaine knew that's what he would choose because they had discussed it. But if Blaine thought there was still a chance Sam might end up in Kentucky, he'd be more likely to say yes to NYADA...

Oh God, he couldn't even believe he was thinking this way. Lying to Blaine to manipulate him into picking NYADA? Even if it was totally for his own good? No, Sam couldn't believe he'd considered it even for a second. What the fuck was wrong with him anyway?

So it was the first thing he told Blaine at dinner—after telling him how hot he looked, which he couldn't help but mention. "That's great, Sam!" Blaine said. "I think you'll really like Bowling Green."

"And I think _you'll _really like—"

"Can we...not? I've had all the NYADA versus Oberlin talk I can handle for one day."

"Yeah, of course. Let's talk about prom instead." The student council had appointed an actual prom-planning committee this year, instead of the president doing all the planning himself at the last minute. The council had been kept informed of the important details, but the only things they had insisted on were: 1) no dinosaurs, and 2) no hair gel ban.

"Yeah, let's. One of us should probably ask the other to be his date."

"What..." Shit, Blaine was right. Here he'd been just assuming they were going together—which, it was like the biggest thing you weren't supposed to do: take your girlfriend (or boyfriend, in this case) for granted. "Blaine—"

"Sam," Blaine said, taking both his hands. "Would you be my date to the prom?"

"_I _was gonna ask _you_." He knew that Blaine knew that, and he was pretty sure he had interrupted mainly because he could more easily afford to be the host.

"But I asked you first. And if you say no I'll be totally crushed."

"Well, in that case, my answer is yes."

"Yes!" Blaine said, with a very cutely awkward fist pump. "I'm gonna have the hottest date there!"

"No, sorry. _I'm_ gonna have that honor."

The server stopped at their table, and they both ordered the soup and salad. Blaine was really in more of a clam linguine mood, but he had a feeling Sam was going to insist on paying. Sam got a Diet Coke to drink and Blaine just asked for water. The waiter took their menus and left.

"Is it gonna be weird for you to see Brittany tomorrow?" Blaine asked.

"No, I don't think so. Except...she seems to feel weird about it for some reason."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, she keeps saying how much she's changed. She says she's not the hot cheerleader we all knew and loved anymore."

"That's ridiculous," Blaine said. "First, she's at MIT, and I'm pretty sure they don't even have cheerleaders. Second, I know and love her without ever having thought she was hot."

"True," Sam said. "Tina probably never thought she was hot either."

Blaine thought of the one time Tina told him that she did think Brittany was hot. But that was an isolated comment and probably didn't mean anything. She had been saying that she planned to experiment with girls at Northwestern, but Blaine kept that to himself. He thought he was probably the only one Tina had shared that particular plan with.

The server dropped off their drinks, and Sam shot his straw wrapper at Blaine. "Two points!" he said when it hit him in the middle of the forehead.

Blaine crumpled the paper and threw it into Sam's Diet Coke. "A million points!" he countered.

Sam fished the paper out and set it on the table. "She said she has butterflies in her stomach."

"I thought she said that when she called you before nationals."

"She did. She said it again last night."

"Weird," Blaine said. But then, that was a word that could describe most of Brittany's comments. "Hey, you know what we should sing for her tomorrow?"

"A song about a sweater," Sam said.

"Wow, that's way better than what I was going to say. I was going to say something by Britney Spears."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "My idea is better."

After dinner they went back to Blaine's house and Googled "songs about sweaters." There were more than they expected! They picked "Autumn Sweater" by Yo La Tengo and spent most of the rest of the night learning and practicing it. (With occasional make-out breaks.) So they were all ready to sing to Brittany tomorrow.

Except it turned out they weren't ready at all. It wasn't the song. They knew the song; they totally would have been able to play and sing it if they had remembered they had planned to sing at all.

What they weren't ready for was seeing Brittany.

She walked into the choir room shyly, which was weird enough. She was wearing her McKinley cheerleader outfit—apparently a spare since she had burned one in front of Coach Roz—but that wasn't weird. What was weird was that it didn't fit her very well anymore. It didn't fit her very well because she was obviously pregnant.


	13. Chapter 13

The choir room was silent for what felt like a very long time. Everyone stared at Brittany, then at Sam. When Sam realized he had become the focal point he jumped up and pulled Brittany out into the hall.

He forced himself to look in her eyes instead of at her stomach when he asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I _did_ tell you," Brittany said. "I thought maybe I'd look normal again if I put on my old uniform, but... I guess the butterflies are getting really big."

"Britt..." He had no idea if she could really not know. "Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"I called Lord Tubbington's vegetarian but he hung up on me. I don't think he does butterfly removals."

"I don't think it's butterflies, Britt. I think it's...I think you need to see a human doctor."

"That's very prejudiced of you, Sam. If Artie were a doctor he'd be just as good as any human."

It took Sam a minute to figure out what she was talking about. "Because Artie's a robot!" he said when he got it. "But, no, I didn't mean a doctor who is a human, I meant a doctor who works on humans. Like, do you have a doctor you usually see?"

"I can see all doctors. As long as they're not invisible."

"Okay." This was going nowhere. "I have to talk to Finn." Hopefully he would remember what doctor Quinn saw or the clinic she went to.

As soon as he walked back into the choir room he caught Unique "casually" hanging out near the slightly ajar door. He ignored her and signaled to Finn.

Blaine went to Brittany. "So, how far along—" But he stopped when Sam caught his eye and shook his head.

"How far along what?" she asked. "Why is everyone being so weird and quiet?"

"We all just...really want to hear how far along you are in your studies. At MIT. How's MIT?"

Brittany told them some stories about MIT, none of which made any sense, while Sam and Finn conferred in Mr. Schuester's office. She was in the middle of telling them about Lady Tubbington's new sorority for cats when they returned.

"Good news, Brittany!" Sam said. "I got you a doctor's appointment right away. Come on. I'll drive you."

"That's okay, I have my car."

"Uh, okay. I'd really like to go with you. If that's all right."

Brittany shrugged. "Sure, you can ride shotgun."

"Shotgun _wedding_," Kitty muttered. Blaine scowled at her.

Brittany turned to the rest of the group, who were giving her and Sam their undivided attention, and told them, "I'll be home all summer, so I guess I'll see you guys around."

After she and Sam left, everyone turned to Blaine. He could feel them looking at him, and he knew they were waiting for him to say something, but he couldn't. He couldn't even start to think what this would mean for him and Sam. For _Brittany_, that is. Obviously he was most concerned about Brittany. Brittany and the...baby. Oh fuck, Brittany and Sam and their baby.

Unless...he didn't think she could be showing that much if she'd gotten pregnant after she went to MIT. That had only been a couple months. But maybe _before_ she and Sam started going out? Or maybe...well, it was possible, wasn't it, that there was someone else _while_ she and Sam were together? He didn't want to assume the worst of Brittany or anything, but...but such things were known to happen. Just look at Quinn.

"I, uh..." He looked around the room, but not at anyone directly. "I'm gonna go." He ran out to his car and sent Sam a text: "Call me when you know anything." Immediately after sending it he wrote another one: "I love you." And then a third: "Everything will be OK."

Sam walked Brittany up to the check-in desk. "Brittany S. Pierce," he said. "We have an appointment."

The front desk lady gave Brittany a bunch of forms to fill out. While Brittany was sitting in the lobby, looking through her purse for a crayon to write with, Sam leaned over the counter and said, "She has no idea."

"No idea about what? Her insurance coverage?"

Shit, Sam hadn't even thought about insurance. Hopefully she was covered by her parents. "No. That she's...you know."

"I'm sorry, you'll have to be more specific."

"The reason women come to this clinic?" Sam looked around meaningfully at the lobby full of pregnant women.

The lady stood up to look at Brittany again, then looked back at Sam. "She doesn't know? You're shitting me, right?"

"Uh..." Sam was momentarily thrown by the choice of words. "No. I'm not shitting you at all."

"Wow. I'll let the doctor know."

A nurse called for Brittany a little while later and Sam got up too. He didn't leave her side, except when she had to go into the bathroom to pee into a cup. Luckily Brittany didn't seem to mind having him there, because he doubted that the ex-boyfriend in these situations had the "right" to be there if he wasn't wanted.

After she'd had her blood pressure and height and weight and everything else checked, while they were waiting in the exam room for the doctor, Sam tried to talk to her. "So, you know it's probably not actually butterflies, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It might be something else...something that you're not expecting, but that actually happens to lots of people. Well, lots of women. Just...everything's gonna be okay. Okay? See? Even Blaine says so." He showed her the text.

Brittany didn't actually seem too worried. In fact she was so not worried that Sam started to think maybe _he_ was wrong. But what else could cause a bump nearly the size of a dodge ball? A giant tumor? It was hard to see how that could be any better.

The doctor came in in a few minutes, although Sam wouldn't have known she was a doctor if her nametag didn't say "Dr. Reynolds." She was short and kind of cute and didn't look much older than they were. She shook Brittany's hand and said, "You must be Brittany?" Brittany nodded, and she continued, "It's nice to meet you, Brittany. My name's Harmony. Is this your boyfriend?"

"He was for a while. Now he's just a friend again."

"Sam Evans," Sam told her, and she shook his hand and told him it was nice to meet him too.

"So Brittany," Dr. Reynolds said, "what brings you here today?"

"Well Sam offered to bring me, but I had my car so I actually brought him. He really wanted to come for some reason."

"Uh huh, I see. And...why did you want to see a doctor today?"

"I think there's...Sam says it's not butterflies, but I think there's something in my stomach."

"Mmm-hmm. Well there _is_ something...Do you know what your uterus is?"

"Of course I know what my uterus is."

The room was silent for a moment, as if Dr. Reynolds and Sam were waiting for her to make a follow-up statement, possibly one indicating a profound misunderstanding of what the uterus was. But there was no follow-up statement, so it was unclear whether she actually did know what it was or not.

In any case, Dr. Reynolds continued, "There is something, and it's in your uterus, not your stomach. You're pregnant, Brittany."

Sam and the doctor both watched her carefully for a reaction. Seeing none, Sam took her hand and said, "Brittany?"

"Yes, Sam, I know what pregnant means."

"I was going to ask if you heard."

"I heard but I don't understand." She looked at Dr. Reynolds and clarified, "I _understand_ what it means. Knocked up. Bun in the oven. Tin roof, rusted. But I don't see how. We were always so careful."

"We were, actually," Sam said to the doctor.

"No contraceptive method is 100 percent effective," Dr. Reynolds said. "We can talk about methods to use in the future, but right now the thing to concentrate on is the pregnancy and your plans. I'd like to perform an ultrasound so we can try to determine how many weeks along you are...Do you happen to remember when your last period was, Brittany?"

"N...no. Do you remember, Sam?"

Sam shook his head. He didn't remember ever being aware of her having a period when they were together. That probably should have worried him at the time, he realized now.

"Well, the ultrasound will give us a pretty good idea. But based just on what I can see, I'd say there's a good chance it's too late for termination to be an option." She looked at Sam. "I'm sorry. If you two had come in sooner..."

That was when Sam realized he was crying. Brittany still wasn't really reacting, but Sam had tears running down his face. And it wasn't because Brittany couldn't get an abortion. He didn't think he would want her to anyway. It was just... he had never wanted to be in a position where an abortion was even a _possible_ solution. _None_ of this was something he thought he'd ever be dealing with.

A wife or girlfriend's intentional pregnancy, sure, he'd thought about that, but when they were adults and were ready for a child. And now that he was with Blaine, he'd thought about adopting together when they were older. He had not thought about a surprise pregnancy of an ex-girlfriend when they were both teenagers.

They really had been careful. She'd gone off the pill when she became exclusive with Santana, but she and Sam had always used condoms. Except...

Oh fuck.

"Doctor, uh, Harmony? Could it have happened in December? Like a little before Christmas?"

"I'll have a better idea after I see the ultrasound, but that does sound highly plausible. Especially if...did you have unprotected sex around that time?"

"When we were married," Sam said.

"The Mayan apocalypse," Brittany added.

Because who the hell could worry about condoms when the world was ending?

Dr. Reynolds sent them back out to the lobby. She was going to try to arrange for an ultrasound right away rather than having Brittany make an appointment to come back later. If it wasn't already too late for all options to be considered—she didn't say _termination_ again—she didn't want to make them wait until it would be.

Brittany didn't cry until she called her mother, and then she broke down completely. "Mommy, I need you, I need you, come right away," she managed to say before the sobbing took over. Sam had to take the phone and tell Mrs. Pierce where they were.

He wanted to call Blaine, but Brittany was still sobbing and he had to try to help even if he wanted to sob just as bad. She was inconsolable. All he could do was hold her in his lap until her mother got there, and then Brittany moved to her lap and continued to cry.

Now that he could call Blaine, he didn't know what he could possibly say to him. He settled on a text. "Definitely pregnant, waiting to find out how long. Can't believe I fucked up so bad. I love you even if you don't want anything to do with me anymore."

Blaine immediately called him back. "How can you even say that? I love you no matter how bad you fucked up. And you didn't do it by yourself, you know."

"No, that's true. But of the two of us, I should have..."

"And are you even sure it was you? I mean, I don't want to insult Brittany or anything—"

"Then don't. I'm sure it was me."

"Tell me everything."

Sam told him everything the doctor had said, everything Brittany had said, everything Brittany's mom had said. "Oh, they're calling us for the ultrasound now. I have to go."

"Come over when you can, okay? Whatever time it is."

"Yeah. Would you call Carole for me? Tell her I'll be late?"

"Sure. What reason should I tell her?"

"May as well tell her the truth. She'll find out soon enough anyway."

The ultrasound confirmed that right before Christmas was the most likely time of conception. That meant Brittany was probably about twenty-five weeks pregnant, which meant an abortion would almost certainly not be legal in Ohio. Brittany's mom seemed upset by this. Sam couldn't tell how Brittany felt about it, but he was sort of relieved that they didn't even have to consider it. He didn't know how anyone even managed to make a decision like that. Not that it would have really been his decision to make, but he would have felt responsible for whatever Brittany decided.

The doctor told her to schedule some prenatal checkups, which was just...such a bizarre concept. But she did, and then they left, her mom driving them to the school so Sam could get his car.

He and Brittany sat together in the backseat, not talking most of the way. Right before they reached the school, she said, "I never even thought _we_ would survive the apocalypse. I really never thought a whole new person would get their start during it."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Me neither."


	14. Chapter 14

Blaine opened the front door and there was Sam, just standing there, looking so...so young. Young and terrified.

He took him by the hand and led him up to his room. They sat next to each other on the bed, Sam with his head on Blaine's shoulder, until he was ready to talk.

"They did an ultrasound. To see how...how long she's been..."

"And? How long has she been?"

"Since December. She's due on September twelfth."

"Wow. That's... that's..." That was right after they'd be starting college.

Sam shook his head. He couldn't think about September yet. He could only think about what he'd seen at the clinic. "The ultrasound was... There's a _baby_ in there. We could see her breathing, see her moving around..."

"Wait. Her?"

Sam looked into Blaine's eyes for the first time since they'd started talking. A bewildered smile formed on his face. "It's a... She's a girl." _My daughter_, he thought, but he couldn't say it out loud yet.

"How's Brittany doing?"

"Brittany's..." Sam stood up. "Oh God, I shouldn't be here. I wanted to see you, I needed to see you, but I shouldn't have been thinking of myself. I should be with Brittany. She said she didn't want me to, she said she just wanted to be with her mom, but..."

Blaine stood too and wrapped his arms around Sam. "You should let her be with her mom then." He was probably being selfish, wanting Sam to stay here with him. But if that was what Brittany said...

"No, but I have to. I mean, what kind of man hides out from his pregnant girlfriend at his boyfriend's house?"

"Pregnant _ex_-girlfriend. And you're not hiding out. She told you—"

"Yeah, but she was hysterical. And what if she changed her mind? What if she doesn't even remember what she said and she wonders why the hell I've abandoned her?"

"I think you can trust Brittany to tell you what she actually wants," Blaine said gently. He didn't add that it was about the only thing you could trust Brittany to make any sense about. "But if you think she may have changed her mind, call her. Don't just show up unexpected."

Okay. Okay, that actually made sense. He called Brittany and got her voicemail. He sent her a text and didn't get a reply. He called her house phone and got her mother.

"Mrs. Pierce, hi, it's Sam. Can I talk to Brittany?"

"Oh. Hello, Sam." Wow, she seemed a lot colder than she had at the clinic. He suddenly realized how stupid he was to expect her to treat him warmly _at all_. If she hadn't seemed pissed off at him earlier it was probably only because she was too shocked or too busy trying to calm Brittany down. "No, Brittany is resting."

"I was just wondering if she'd like me to come over..."

"No. Frankly, given my husband's reaction to this news, I think you coming over here would be a very bad idea."

"Oh. Mrs. Pierce, I just want you to know I never wanted this to happen. I'm so—"

"I'm sure you didn't, Sam. I'll tell Brittany you called." She hung up on him.

Sam let his phone fall to the floor. He crawled fully dressed under the blankets on Blaine's bed and lay face-down. Blaine got in next to him. He rested his head on Sam's shoulder and reached under his shirt to rub his back. "Is her mom mad at you?"

"Uh huh," Sam said into the pillow. "And her dad, apparently. I guess if I had a daughter I would..."

Blaine kissed the back of his neck. "Were they really that surprised though? I mean, I only met Brittany's parents once, but they didn't seem..." They didn't seem to be like her. "I just can't believe they didn't already know."

"They hadn't seen her. She just got in this morning and they were at work."

"Oh." Blaine had a ton more questions, like _How the fuck did you guys let this happen?_, but it didn't seem like a good time for them.

"Fuck, Blaine. How am I gonna tell my parents?"

Blaine thought it was a rhetorical question. He just scooted in a little closer and kept rubbing Sam's back. But then Sam turned on his side and looked at him imploringly. As if Blaine would really know what he should do. "I don't know, Sam. Just be direct? Your parents love you. They might be mad, but—"

"I'm not worried about them being _mad_. They're not going to be mad, they're going to be..."

"Disappointed?" Blaine asked.

Sam nodded. Tears started to form in his eyes. "But more than that. _Crushed_. My mom especially." She had told him so many times to be careful. That it was his responsibility as much as the girl's—maybe more.

Blaine kissed his eyes. "I'm sure she'll understand."

"Yeah," Sam said. He buried his face in Blaine's chest. His mother _would_ understand. That was why she would be so crushed. They stayed like that for a while, Sam letting his tears fall and Blaine just holding him.

After Sam had been not crying for a few minutes, Blaine asked if he wanted to have some dinner. He was pretty sure Sam hadn't eaten before he came over. He didn't know exactly what time it was, but he realized he was a little hungry himself. But Sam didn't want anything, and he asked if Blaine would just stay there with him, so of course Blaine did.

"I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow," Sam said. He did know what he had to do, obviously. The baby was his responsibility, and that meant Brittany was too. What he didn't know was how Brittany would react, or how her parents would.

There was a chance—a pretty good chance—that he wouldn't be able to be with Blaine anymore. But tonight they were still together.

"I'm sorry. I love you so much." He caught Blaine's lips in a kiss, one in which he felt as much need for him as he felt for Blaine. He pressed his body against Blaine's. "I know it's not the right time, but...Blaine, I want you really bad."

Blaine didn't need to be asked twice. He had been using all his self-control to not molest Sam because of how serious this all was. But if it could maybe bring him some comfort... Or maybe that was just a rationalization, but he still wasn't going to say no. He quickly removed his clothes and Sam's—they didn't have that much time before his mother would be home.

He lay on top of Sam and kissed his neck. Sam wriggled and moaned while he worked his way down with his mouth and hands, pausing to pay some attention to each nipple, and ending up at his cock.

"Oh Jesus, Blaine, you're so good at that," Sam said as Blaine enveloped his cock in his hot, wet mouth.

Blaine really loved the taste and the feel of Sam's dick in his mouth, and he hated to hurry things along. But he also really didn't want to be caught by his mom. He reluctantly detached himself. "Do you want me to make you come like this?" he asked. "Or should I get the lube and condoms?"

"Lube and condoms," Sam panted.

Blaine started to get up to get them, but as soon as he was on his knees, Sam had his hands on his ass and his dick in his mouth. Blaine rested one hand on Sam's shoulder and one in his hair and let his head fall back.

"Sorry," Sam said, backing away after a minute.

"Yeah, you better be," Blaine said. "I hate it when my super hot boyfriend sucks my cock." He got the supplies out of the drawer and tossed the condom to Sam. He held up the lube and asked, "You want to? Or should I?"

"You," Sam said. Blaine had hoped Sam would want to do it, but it was okay. It probably would be quicker this way. He squirted some lube on his fingers and reached around behind himself and—"No," Sam said.

"No?"

"When I said I want you, I meant... I meant I want you _inside _me."

Blaine cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Blaine..." Sam pulled him close and kissed his neck, right under the ear. He whispered, "I want you to make love to me, Blaine. Would you? Please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. But we don't have a lot of time, and I don't want to hurt you..."

"You won't." What he meant wasn't actually that he didn't think it would hurt at all. Whenever Brittany had fucked him with her strap-on, it did hurt, but not that much. And anyway if it was worth it with her—which it was—it would be even more worth it with Blaine, even if it hurt a lot. "It's not totally my first time."

"A strap-on isn't exactly the same, though..."

"I know. But I want you to." He got on his hands and knees and turned so his ass was pointing toward Blaine. So what was Blaine supposed to do? Of course he touched his lubed fingers to Sam's hole, which caused Sam to gasp and push back against his fingers. And of course he went further then, pressing a finger inside, and another, stretching and lubricating while Sam bucked his hips. And of course he used his other hand to massage Sam's balls and stroke his dick.

Blaine's fingers rubbed against his prostate and it felt amazing. _Too_ amazing. "Blaine, please do it now before I come from your fingers."

"Get on your back. I wanna see your face."

"It's not gonna hurt," Sam assured him. This time he really didn't think it would. Blaine had gotten him readier than Brittany ever did.

"Can't I just want to see your face while we make love?"

Sam rolled onto his back, pulling Blaine down with him and giving him a sloppy kiss. Blaine put the condom on and covered it in lube. He knelt between Sam's legs, and Sam lifted his ass up to meet him. He pushed in slowly, savoring Sam's tightness, his heat. He stopped when Sam bit his lip. "How are you doing? Okay so far?"

Sam nodded. There was just a tiny twinge of pain. He just had to remember to relax, even though his ass just wanted to grip and squeeze Blaine's cock as hard as it could. Despite the teensy twinge, it already felt amazing, and he desperately wanted to feel Blaine deeper inside him. "Keep going."

He kept going until he was in as far as he could go and his balls were squished up against Sam's ass. "Sam, you feel so good."

Sam looked in his eyes and smiled. "You too."

Blaine pulled out and pushed back in lightly—or he tried to go lightly, anyway. Sam grabbed his ass and was pulling him in hard and deep. As soon as they found an angle that allowed Blaine's dick to nail his prostate perfectly, Sam let out the loudest moan Blaine had ever heard. He was so glad his parents weren't home—he kind of hoped the neighbors weren't either. "_OH_, that's fucking perfect, Blaine. Right there, don't stop. Don't ever stop."

He thrust a little harder and a little faster, and Sam went, "Yeah, there, fuck Blaine, _yes_. Fuck me, Blaine. Give me—_uh!_—give me all you've got!" Blaine let loose with everything he had and jerked Sam's cock. Sam went momentarily silent, biting his lip hard and tightly gripping the slats of the headboard. And then his body went rigid and tightened around Blaine like a vise and he howled. He didn't stay rigid for long before he started to thrash around powerfully. His howl was continuous but not steady; the pitch and intensity wavered as his come spurted out and splattered across his chest. Blaine, too, became erratic in his movements and breathing as he came inside Sam.

They stayed together for several minutes, neither of them moving except for when Blaine collapsed onto Sam's chest. Eventually, though, Blaine got up to throw the condom away and put his clothes back on. Sam rolled over and watched him dress. "Can I sleep here?" he asked.

"I'd love it," Blaine said. "I'm just not sure we could convince my mom."

"Shit, you're right." Sam sat up. "I guess Carole will want to talk to me anyway. How did she take it?"

"I, uh... I'm sorry, Sam! I didn't know how to tell her. I just told her you wanted to talk to her."

"Shit." He looked around for his clothes and started putting them on.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't even thinking about... You asked me to do one thing and I couldn't even... Let me come over with you now. I can still tell her for you."

"It's okay, Blaine. It'll be good practice for me for telling my own mom." He slipped his t-shirt over his head and picked up one of his shoes off the floor. "Don't worry if I'm not in school tomorrow."

"What? Why?"

Sam found his other shoe and sat on the edge of the bed to put them on. "I have to talk to Brittany. It seems like my best chance at doing that is going to be when her parents are at work."

He tied his shoes and stood up. Blaine walked him out to the driveway. They hugged, and Blaine told him, "Good luck with Carole. Call me if you need anything. _Anything_."

Blaine watched him drive away. Just as Sam was pulling out of the driveway, his mother was pulling in. She parked in the garage, but instead of going straight in to the kitchen she walked around to where Blaine was standing on the porch. "Was that Sam leaving? I hope you didn't have a fight."

"No," Blaine said, eyes still fixed on the last spot he'd been able to see Sam before he went around the corner and out of view.

"Are you okay, honey?"

"I don't know."


	15. Chapter 15

Carole was on the phone when Sam got home, so he was able to duck into the kitchen without talking to her. He was glad for the extra time: you'd think he would have thought about what to say to her on the drive home, but he hadn't.

He looked in the fridge for something to eat. Carole had made Caesar salad with chicken and put some in a plastic container with his name on it.

She came into the kitchen while he was standing next to the fridge, eating it out of the container. "Thank you, Carole," he said, indicating the salad. "You've always been like a second mom to me."

"You're welcome. I bet your first mom would tell you to sit down and use a plate."

He took a plate out of the cupboard, put the salad on it, and sat at the table. Carole poured him a glass of milk and sat across from him. He took a sip and said, "Thanks."

"So you've had quite a day, it sounds like."

He looked up, panicky. Blaine hadn't told her anything, so... "Were you talking to Finn? What did he say?"

"He called me and asked, 'How's Sam doing?' I said, 'I haven't seen him yet. Blaine said he's going to be late and he has something to talk to me about. Do you know anything about it?' And Finn said, 'What? Me? How would I know anything?' And then he started talking about how he was sorry he couldn't talk but he had a lot to do."

"Ah."

"Ah."

"So, please don't tell my parents this, okay? I'm going to tell them—tomorrow probably—and I really want them to hear it from me. Okay?"

"Okay."

"So...you remember how me and Brittany got fake-married, only we didn't know it was fake at the time?"

"Yes." She waited. Sam was having a hard time continuing. "It turns out it wasn't fake and you're actually married?" she guessed.

"No. That would actually be good news, since Brittany's...Brittany's, uh..."

"Oh no. No, no." Carole stood up and took a couple steps toward the refrigerator. She hesitated, opened the door, closed it, opened it again, and took out the milk.

Sam watched as she topped off his milk glass, although he'd only taken the one sip. He thought she probably knew what he was going to say, but he had to spit it out anyway. "Brittany's pregnant."

"Oh my God." She tried to put the lid back on the milk jug, but her hand was shaking and she dropped it onto the floor. "It's like Finn and Quinn all over." She actually laughed. "Any chance Puck is really the father?"

"No." Sam got up to get the milk lid. He rinsed it off at the sink and put it back on.

"Brittany's not kicked out of her house, is she?"

"No." That is, he didn't _think_ so. She would've called him—right?—if something like that had happened.

"What is she going to do?"

"I don't know. I just—we _both_—just found out today. I'm gonna propose to her, obviously—"

"Sam..." Carole said, putting her hands on his shoulders. She waited until he lifted his head to look her in the eye. "You guys are _so young_. I don't think getting married is—"

"We might be too young to get married. But Brittany's also too young to raise a baby by herself."

"There are ways you can help without—"

"'Help' is what friends do. The father has to do more than 'help.'" Carole tried to say something else, but Sam shook his head. "If she won't have me, that's one thing." Sam was trying really hard not to _hope_ that she would turn down his proposal. "But I have to try."

XOXOXO

Sam wasn't sure what time Brittany's parents left for work in the morning. He wasn't actually sure what they did, as a matter of fact. But there wasn't a class that he and Brittany hadn't skipped together to go to her house and have sex, so he knew they were gone during the whole school day.

He thought about those times they'd skipped class together. Sex with Brittany was good. So being married to her wouldn't be bad.

Not being able to be with Blaine, though, would break his heart. But he should've thought of _that_ back in December.

He went to the drug store as soon as it opened and bought a simple gold (colored) ring. He knew it was kind of tacky and not at all the kind of ring any girl ever had dreamed of being proposed to with. But he also knew that babies were expensive and that spending money he didn't have on a _ring_ would just be stupid.

It was a little before nine when he pulled up in front of her house. Her dad's car was in the driveway—what the hell? He must have called in sick or something. Probably just so he could guard his daughter from Sam. Well, fine, if that was the way he wanted it. Sam was going to find a way in.

He walked around the house looking for an opening. He found one in the back: the kitchen window was open. Brittany had probably been making toast. He couldn't believe his luck—there wasn't even a screen in. It was a little high off the ground, but all he had to do was jump up and grab the ledge, then pull himself up, propel himself in head-first over the sink...

...and look up, ass and legs still dangling out the window, into the very unamused face of the father of the girl he'd knocked up. "Oh. Uh, hi there, Mr. Pierce. Is Brittany home?"

This could have gone a couple different ways. Mr. Pierce could have pushed him back out onto the grass and then yelled at him, or he could have pulled him into the kitchen and then yelled at him. But Mr. Pierce didn't do either of those things. He didn't yell, and he didn't help Sam in or out. He stood there with his arms crossed and watched him struggle.

Sam didn't see any point in backing out now, so he continued to pull himself forward. He _just_ managed to avoid overshooting the sink and counter and sliding head-first onto the floor. Unfortunately, in doing so he somehow ended up taking a faucet to the groin. He didn't look up to see if Mr. Pierce was smiling at that, but he assumed he probably was.

When he was able to get off the counter and stand, the man was still silently watching him with his arms over his chest. "So...I'm just gonna go up to Brittany's room. Don't worry, we're not gonna—"

"Go ahead," her dad said. "What _else_ could happen?"

Brittany was still in bed, sleeping. Sam didn't want to wake her. Pregnant women probably needed extra sleep or something. He lay down next to her, but not under the sheet, and not touching her. He didn't want to be creepy. He just lay on his side and watched her sleep.

She had her back to him, but he could tell when she was close to waking up from the way her breathing changed. She was almost all the way awake when she snuggled back against him and said, "San..."

She would probably always do that, he thought, throughout their marriage. She'd done it when they were going out. Not usually during sex, but at times like right now, when she wasn't quite awake. It wasn't so bad. It was almost his name. Plus, he knew she wouldn't get mad if he occasionally let Blaine's name slip under similar circumstances.

Brittany rolled onto her other side so she was facing him. She opened her eyes and smiled for just a second before she realized he wasn't Santana. "Sam! What are you—"

"Sorry. Your dad...sort of let me in." It was true that he hadn't _stopped_ him anyway. "Why is he home anyway?"

"Is he? I guess he's not working until tonight then." She shrugged, like his being home during the day wasn't unusual. "Do you wanna touch it?"

"You mean...?"

Brittany took his hand and moved it under the sheet, under her t-shirt, and placed it on her baby bump. "Isn't it weird?" she said.

"Yeah." _Weird_ was actually the exact word Sam was thinking of. "I don't feel her, like, kicking or anything though."

"She doesn't do it all the time."

"Well, is there anything that especially seems to set her off, or—"

"I don't know. Until yesterday I thought she was butterflies." She got out of bed and went into her bathroom. "My mom said she's probably why I have to pee so much," she said, while doing just that. As usual, she hadn't bothered to shut the door all the way.

When she came back out, Sam was sitting in one of the chairs in the Fondue for Two corner. "Do you mind getting dressed, Britt? I need to ask you something and you should probably have something on besides underwear and a t-shirt. I won't look."

"Don't be silly," she said. She pulled on some lavender sweat pants but didn't bother to change her t-shirt. Sam noticed for the first time that it was one he had left there, which he guessed explained why it wasn't too small for her. She sat in the chair opposite him. "What do you wanna talk about?"

"You know I love you, right?" he started.

"Of course. I love you too."

"Right. I know you do. I know you don't love me the same way you love Santana, but—"

"Like you don't love me the way you love Blaine," she added.

"But the important thing is that we do love each other. And we made this baby together. And...and I wanna be there...with you...and with her. Brittany—"

The doorbell rang downstairs, and they both looked toward it for a second. "That's probably just our neighbor from across the street. She's always dropping by asking my dad for help fixing stuff around her house when he's home during the day," Brittany said. She added in a whisper, "I think she likes him."

"Oh. Yeah, I'm not surprised. He's a...really nice guy. Well, anyway, like I was about to say..." Sam got on one knee in front of her and reached into his pocket for the ring. "Brittany. Would you—"

The bedroom door was flung open. "Oh, fuck no. You are not about to propose to my girl."

"Santana!" Brittany jumped up and ran into her arms and started to cry.

"Shh, shh." Santana stroked her hair. "I know, Britt. I know. It's gonna be okay, baby."

Sam stood up and locked eyes with Santana over Brittany's shoulder. "Santana. How nice to see you."

Santana flipped him off while she continued to mutter soothing sounds and stroke Brittany's hair.

Sam flopped back into his chair. He could tell they weren't going to break it up anytime soon; the only thing for him to do was wait them out. As he did, he closed his eyes and wondered at how fucked up his life had become. Last night he got fucked for the first (and maybe last) time by his boyfriend, who he was crazy in love with. Now here he was, watching his ex-girlfriend, who he had impregnated and who he was just about to propose to, get comforted by an ex-girlfriend of both of them, who she was crazy in love with.

He noticed Brittany had stopped crying. He opened his eyes and saw Santana sitting her down on the edge of the bed and getting down on one knee in front of her.

"Oh no, you fucking don't." He got over there and dropped to one knee and tried to nudge Santana over—but without actually pushing her, because he couldn't push a girl even if it was Santana and even if she was trying to propose to Brittany before he could.

"Brittany would you marry me?" they both said at pretty much the same time. Santana took Brittany's left hand before Sam could reach it, so he took the right. Santana's ring was real gold and had a diamond and fit perfectly on Brittany's ring finger. Sam's ring, besides having cost only ten bucks, was too small, and he had to put it on her pinky.

"Brittany needs me. This baby is mine, Santana, and she needs me. She needs her father."

"Oh please, Trouty. Thanks for the sperm and everything, but you've done enough. Brittany needs _me _and so does our baby."

"Your baby? _Your_ baby!? That's a good one. And do I need to remind you that you broke Brittany's heart?"

"How do you think you are gonna take care of Britt and a baby? Are you even graduating from high school?"

"You graduated and look at you now. You're a cage dancer. I can earn more stripping."

"I could earn more stripping too if I was a..." Santana closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They had both gotten a bit loud, but the next thing she said was calm and quiet. "Even if you could earn as much as me, _my_ family can help out financially. Is your family still on food stamps?"

Sam stood up slowly. He did not strangle Santana, and he did not punch her. He kissed Brittany on the cheek and said, "Call me when she is gone," and he walked out.


	16. Chapter 16

Blaine walked through his school day in a daze. He didn't know what to say to his friends, and they didn't know what to say to him. He sat at their usual table at lunch—they wouldn't let him go off by himself—and no one said a word about Sam or Brittany. Artie started to say something about prom, but Kitty shut him up with a look.

So it was pretty quiet and everyone finished eating in record time—especially Blaine, who really had no appetite. Tina put the remaining half of her sandwich back in her vintage Monkees lunchbox and asked Blaine to take a walk with her. As soon as they stepped away from the table, Blaine could hear the rest of the glee members' conversation pick up. He was pretty sure he knew what the topic was.

Tina and Blaine walked out to the football field. "So?" she asked.

"So ... it's a girl," Blaine said.

"Yeah, we know."

"What!? How do you know?"

"Brittany called Santana, Santana told Rachel and Kurt, Rachel told everyone."

"Oh," Blaine said. He should have known. It certainly explained the text he'd gotten from Kurt that just said, "I'm always here if you need to talk." He hadn't replied to it. "So then you know as much as me."

"We don't know how Sam's doing with all this, or how you're doing ..."

"I'm the least important person in this situation."

"No, you're not, Blainey Days." They walked silently for a while before Tina tried again. "So how _are_ you doing?"

"I'm ... I just wish I knew what was going on. He came over last night and acted like it was our last night together. He didn't say that, but ... And he skipped school today to talk to Brittany, but I don't know if he's seen her yet or ... I don't know anything, he hasn't called or texted, and I don't want to call him ... I mean I do want to, but I don't want him to think I'm trying to make it all about me when it isn't. I just ... He didn't tell me what he was going to say to Brittany today, and I hope he's not planning to ... I mean, I'm afraid he'll think he has to ... Even though neither of them would be happy."

"Text him," Tina said.

"No, Tina ..."

"Just something simple, like, 'How are you?' Just to show you care. Not that he would have forgotten or anything ..."

Oh, God! What if he had forgotten? Not, like, permanently, but because he was overwhelmed with everything else. He sent the text immediately, with Tina's suggested message.

"I wouldn't worry about him marrying Brittany," Tina said.

And, Jesus, why did Tina have to _say_ it? Of course it was what he was worried about, but as long as no one said the words, he could pretend it was just an unrealistic fear, the product of his imagination and his tendency to always think of the worst-case scenario. But maybe ... that is, Tina was trying to give him a reason _not_ to worry about that, so ... "Why not?"

"Santana won't let it happen. She rented a car and drove back to Lima as soon as she heard."

Blaine was glad to have learned this before he got Sam's reply text; it was the only thing that gave him a little hope. Sam's text said, "On my way to Kentucky, I'll call you tonight, I have something to tell you. No matter what I love you."

XOXOXO

Sam pulled over at a rest stop and called his mom at work. She wasn't supposed to get personal calls unless it was really important, so she immediately asked him what was wrong. "Nothing," he said. It wasn't true, obviously, and he knew she wouldn't believe him anyway. "I'm on my way down to see you."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, I'm at a rest stop."

"You're coming for an impromptu visit in the middle of the week and you expect me to believe nothing's wrong?"

"Well, there is something I need to talk to you about. It's just that _wrong_ is too strong a word." He couldn't believe how calm he was managing to sound.

"And you can't tell me now?"

"I'd rather not. I'd rather tell you alone, without the kids around." Or his dad, really, but he didn't say that. "Can you meet me at that diner near your office? As soon as you get off?"

"Of course. I can leave right now—"

"No, it's fine." He wouldn't have wanted her to put her job in jeopardy even if it would have helped. Even though she'd worked there for almost a year she was still a technically a temp, and she was hoping to make it permanent. "I'm not even there yet." He didn't add that he was only about a half-hour away, even though his mother wouldn't be done working for another couple hours.

So he had some time to kill when he got into town. He thought he should probably go home and see his dad and siblings, but he couldn't handle that yet. He drove to the Dairy Queen, but no one he used to work with was there, so he just bought a small cone and ended up throwing most of it away.

He drove to the strip club next. There were some of the same dancers there, but he didn't feel like talking to them. And they didn't notice him, just sitting at the bar not really even watching them. The bartender—a guy Sam didn't know—probably thought it was a little weird that he just sat there, staring at and occasionally taking a sip of his Diet Coke, but he left him alone.

He got to the diner about ten minutes before his mother would and ordered another Diet Coke. While he waited and pretended to study the menu, he tried to think of a good way to ease into the news. _So, Brittany's back from MIT ..._ _Hey, you remember the Mayan apocalypse that never happened?_ ...

In the end he just blurted it out before his mother was even settled in the booth. "Brittany's pregnant. It's mine."

His mother's response was stunned silence. She looked so sad and bewildered, he couldn't stand to look her in the face. The Diet Coke he had in front of him now was as fascinating as the one at the bar had been.

The waiter stopped by and his mom ordered apple pie a la mode and coffee. "And for you?" the guy asked Sam.

Without looking up, he answered, "Just the Coke, thanks." After the waiter took their menus and left he dared a glance at his mother. She still looked the same. "Would you yell at me or something? Please?"

She obliged him. "God _damn _it, Sam! Do you have any idea ...? What have I been telling you since before your first wet dream?"

The customers who had been staring at the outburst all looked away at the words _wet dream_. Sam kept his eyes glued to his glass. "Always use protection."

"And I _know_ you knew what could happen if you didn't. So what the hell were you thinking?" She took a few breaths and lowered her voice. "Sam, if you can tell me you were being careful, that you were using birth control properly and it somehow failed ..."

Sam sort of wished he could lie to her, but he couldn't. He shook his head.

The waiter dropped off her coffee, and she took a long time stirring creamer into it. Finally she asked, and her voice sounded almost normal, "Is she going to have it? She's not a minor, right? So she wouldn't need parental consent to get an—"

"Mom!" Sam looked at her, shocked. "You don't think she should have an abortion, do you?"

"I think the two of you have no idea how hard raising a baby is, and so if you don't have to ..."

"Well, it's too late. The doctor said she's ... I forget how many weeks she said, but she said it was too late to 'terminate.' That's the word she used: _terminate_."

"What's wrong with the word _terminate_?" his mother asked.

"It's so ... It makes it sound like it's no big deal. I seriously can't believe you would even _suggest_ ..."

"Well, Sam, you're about to grow up real quick. And part of growing up is learning to be realistic about things. Look, I know why the idea upsets you—"

"Yeah. You _should_."

"Let's forget I brought it up, okay? It's not even an option, apparently, so ..."

It wasn't something Sam was going to be able to forget. But he did agree not to talk about it anymore. Not right now anyway.

The pie came, and his mom offered him a fork, which he accepted. But he didn't eat any of it, and neither did she, really, except a little bit of the ice cream.

"What are you going to do?" his mom asked quietly.

"Marry her. I mean, I hope. I proposed this morning, but she ... she hasn't given me an answer yet." She hadn't called or texted even, which couldn't be a good sign. "And Santana proposed to her too, so ..."

"Santana's her ex, right? The girl? Why would _she_ propose?"

"They're still in love."

"Oh, they're still in love," his mother repeated sarcastically. "Look, Sam, I'm not going to pretend to understand how you kids can 'hook up' so casually and be with girls one day and boys the next—"

"Mom, it's not like—"

"But I do understand that _you_ are responsible for that baby, not some girl who dumped Brittany last year."

"I know that," Sam said.

XOXOXO

Dinner at home was weird. Stacey and Stevie were surprised and delighted to see him, and honestly he was delighted to see them too. They didn't know and anyway wouldn't understand or care how bad he had fucked up. Actually they'd probably be thrilled to learn that they were going to have a baby niece. Not that he had any intention of telling them yet.

Sam's dad was also surprised to see him. _Delighted_ didn't necessarily describe his reaction, though: he figured out pretty quickly that something was going on, something that Sam couldn't talk about until the kids went to bed.

After Sam finished washing the dishes he debated whether to call Brittany or Blaine first. He really wanted to talk to Blaine first. He really wanted to talk to Blaine only, but obviously that wasn't one of the options. But he knew it made the most sense to call Brittany first, so if she had made a decision he would be able to tell Blaine.

He called her from the kitchen. The kids had been so happy to get out of dish-washing duty, he didn't think they'd press their luck by hanging around there.

Santana answered Brittany's phone. "We were wondering when you'd call, Trouty."

"Santana. You're still with her."

"That's right, Einstein. I spent the whole day with her while you were off ... Where are you, anyway?"

In the background Sam heard Brittany ask for the phone. He said, "Let me talk to Britt, Santana."

"Hey, Sam," Brittany said. "What's up?"

"Uh, that's kinda what I called to ask you. Have you thought about ... what I asked you this morning? When I asked if you'll marry me?"

"Of course I've thought about it."

Sam waited, but she didn't say anything else. "And ...?" he prompted.

"And ... Sam, you know Santana loves me. And I've always known we'll end up together—"

"But I love you too!"

"I know, but it's not the same."

"Brittany, I'll love that baby more than anyone."

"Sam ... I can't do this over the phone. Can you come over? Santana's here but I promise she'll behave."

"I'm in Kentucky. I drove down to tell my mom."

"See? Because some things you have to talk about in person."

"Yeah. Tomorrow, okay? I'm driving back in the morning. Can we ... Can I take you to lunch? Just the two of us?"

Brittany agreed to the lunch and they hung up. Sam immediately called Blaine.

"Sam!" Blaine sounded frantic. "I'm so glad you called. How are you? What's going on?"

"So, I have to tell you something, and I should have told you before I did it, but I was afraid if I told you first I wouldn't be able to go through with it."

Blaine sat at his desk and braced himself. He thought he knew what was coming. "Okay," he said. "Tell me."

"I ... proposed to Brittany this morning."

It was exactly what Blaine was afraid of hearing; it was exactly what he expected to hear, in fact. And yet it knocked the breath out of him.

"Did you hear me, Blaine?"

"Yeah. And ...? What did she ...?"

"She hasn't told me yet. Santana proposed to her too. I think she's gonna pick Santana."

"Oh! Well, that's great!" Brittany could be the fun parent, Santana could be the practical one. Just as importantly, Brittany and Santana could be together and so could he and Sam! "Why don't you sound happy about that?"

"Because ... In a way I am, but ... But it's _my_ baby! What if they decide to move to Alaska or something and I never get to see her?"

"I cannot see Santana moving to Alaska under any circumstances," Blaine said.

"That's just an example, though. And besides, my mom ..." He realized that his mother was at the dining table just outside the kitchen. He wondered how long she'd been there and how much she'd heard. "I'm driving back in the morning and having lunch with Britt. I'll see you after that, okay?"

"Okay. Just ... I love you, Sam. I want what's best for the baby, but ... no, not _but_. I want what's best for the baby _and _I want what's best for you."

"And you don't think me and Brittany getting married is what's best for me."

"Well, no. I mean ... do you?"

"I ... I'll see you tomorrow. I love you, Blaine."

Sam hung up and went out to sit next to his mother at the dining table. "Did you hear much?" he asked. Not that anything he'd said was secret, he just didn't want to have to repeat stuff she already knew.

"You're driving back in the morning?"

"Yeah. Like you said, it's the middle of the week, and I can't miss _that_ much school." Even if it didn't matter because if he got married and had a family to support there was no way he'd be able to go to college.

"I'm coming with you."

"Mom, you can't. Your job ..."

"I already called my supervisor and told her I have a family emergency. She's very nice, I don't think it'll be a problem."

"But you won't get paid—"

"It's decided, Sam. We'll leave right after the kids go to school. I'll tell your dad."

"You will?" Sam asked hopefully. But then he realized what she meant. "Oh, you mean about coming to Lima with me. For a second I thought you were offering to tell him ..."

"Would you like me to tell him that too, honey?"

His mom brushed the hair off his face then and it made him cry. "Please," he managed to say before he broke into sobs that rendered him incapable of speech.

"It's okay, baby," his mom said, pulling him onto her shoulder. "It's gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be all right."


	17. Chapter 17

Sam and his mother drove to Lima in separate cars so he wouldn't have to drive her home. He thought he was relieved at this arrangement because it meant he wouldn't have to be lectured at all morning. But once he got on the road he was just lonely.

He talked to Blaine a little, but not for long. Blaine was in school, after all. And Sam didn't have any news for him—except that he wouldn't be able to see him until tomorrow thanks to his mom coming to Lima. He was glad to hear Blaine's voice, at least, except that Blaine sounded so sad.

Sam had to go pick up Brittany for their lunch pretty much right after he and his mother got to the Hudmel house. He had a hard time convincing his mother to stay at the house; she wanted to go to lunch with them. But he and Brittany had agreed it would just be the two of them; if she could ditch Santana, then he could ditch his mother.

Brittany didn't seem to have bought any maternity clothes yet; she was still wearing the lavender sweat pants and Sam's old t-shirt. Breadstix wasn't exactly fancy, but she was the most casually dressed person there. Sam didn't care; the only reason he even noticed was that a few prissy old ladies glared at her. He stared down each of them.

Sam held her chair out for her and, once she was settled, sat opposite her. He told her that his mother wanted to talk to the two of them and Brittany's parents.

"Why?" Brittany asked.

"Um, because of the baby. Her grandchild." Oh God, his mother was going to be a grandma.

"Oh."

"I hope it's okay. I mean, she's really determined."

"My parents should be home by five-thirty or so."

Sam decided to take this as an invitation to stop by around six. He would call the house first just to make sure they were expected. "So ..." Sam was interrupted by the server stopping by for their drink orders. "Uh, I'll have a Diet Coke," Sam told her.

"Me too," Brittany said.

The server started to walk away, but Sam said, "Wait!" To Brittany he said, "Shouldn't you be drinking milk or something?"

"I don't know. Should I?"

"I think so." Brittany didn't seem to disagree, so he told the waitress, "Make that two milks instead." It seemed like changing his drink order was the least he could do; he didn't want to rub it in or anything that he could have all the caffeine he wanted, plus whatever other junk was in Diet Coke.

"Chocolate," Brittany added.

"So ..." Sam started again when the server was gone, "I see you've got my ring on. And Santana's."

"Your ring? I thought it was for me," Brittany said, taking it off her pinky. She held it out to him and asked, "Do you think Santana wants hers back too?"

"No, it _is_ for you." Sam put it back on her finger. "It's just ... usually when a woman wears an engagement ring it's because she's accepted the proposal of whoever gave it to her."

"Oh!" She took Sam's ring off once again and placed it gently on the table. Sam looked at it for a minute. The ring looked so sad and pathetic just lying there on the checkered tablecloth. He looked up at Brittany. She gave him a sad smile and removed Santana's ring too. She placed it right next to his. "I haven't accepted either proposal."

"Everything's happening really fast," Sam said sympathetically. "But I really want you to say yes to me because—"

"You know what I want?" Brittany asked.

"No. What?"

"I want both of you. I want us all to live in a big apartment in Boston—Blaine can come too—and I can keep going to college and you can take care of the baby and Blaine and Santana can go to college. There are lots of colleges there, not just MIT, and—"

"So everyone gets to go to college except me?"

"Of course you can go to college. There are parties at MIT all the time. If Blaine will babysit then you can come to some of them with Santana and me."

"Okay, Brittany, that plan is..." horrible and insulting. The waitress set down their milks and, damn it, she had made both of them chocolate. He didn't _want_ chocolate milk, he didn't even want milk at all, he only ordered it to make Brittany feel better. This was what came from trying to be nice.

"Are you ready to order?"

"Do we look ready to order?" Sam snapped, making the server jump.

"I'd like the cheese ravioli," Brittany said.

The waitress wrote that down and said to Sam, "I'll just come back when you're—"

"Just bring me the soup and salad," he said. "And I'm sorry. I'm just under a lot of ..."

She glanced at Brittany's pregnant belly and said, "I understand." She scurried away.

"Brittany, you have to choose one of us," Sam said. "Just one. I love you and I want to be your husband and I want to raise our daughter with you. But ... I can't ... If you and Santana are a couple, then what am I? The unpaid nanny?"

"Of course not. You'd be Brittana's dad."

"I'd be ... Wait. You do _not_ seriously want to name her Brittana?"

"Well, we can't name her Blam. That's a boy's name."

Dear God, he couldn't let the baby be named Brittana. But ... just focus. First things first. "Look, you just ... you just have to choose one of us. Santana wouldn't like sharing an apartment with me any more than I'd like sharing one with her."

"Yeah. That's what she said." She drank her whole glass of chocolate milk and started eying Sam's. He passed it to her. "Me and Santana love each other more than me and you do. But you'll love the baby more. You told me that yesterday, but you didn't have to. I already knew it. Santana doesn't even want children."

Sam just nodded. It seemed like she was leaning toward him; he didn't want to say anything to risk making her change her mind. Especially now that he knew Santana didn't like children.

Their food came and they ate for a while without talking. Brittany dropped a ravioli on her shirt and barely seemed to notice or care about the big tomato sauce stain it left. Sam handed her a napkin and said, "Britt ..."

"Sam, I can't!" Brittany said, starting to choke up. "I know I have to choose but I can't do it yet. I can't ... I don't know what I want and I don't know how I'll do it with _either _of you and it's so impossible and—"

"It's okay, Britt." He held her hand. "You don't have to decide right now. Okay? Think about it a while. Okay?"

She nodded, fighting back tears.

"Do you wanna go to the mall after lunch? Get some maternity clothes?"

It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because she started to sob. She started and she couldn't stop. They had to leave without finishing their lunch, Sam leaving the money on the table. He knew Breadstix's prices pretty well, but doing math in his head had never been that easy for him. He left a little more than he probably needed to just so he wouldn't accidentally give the waitress too small a tip.

He helped Brittany into the car and had to help her with her seatbelt too. "Is there anyone at your house?" He didn't want to take her there if she'd be alone.

She nodded and choked out, "Santana."

Shit, of course Santana would be there. Even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer he asked, "Do you wanna go to your house or come home with me?"

"Santana," she said again.

XOXOXO

By some miracle Santana wasn't around when Sam returned to the Pierce house at six with his mother. He didn't want to ask about her in case just mentioning her name might remind Brittany to call her or something. But Brittany's mother must have guessed why he was glancing around because she said that Santana had gone home to spend some time with her family. The way she said it made Sam think it hadn't been Santana's idea.

Mrs. Pierce led them into the living room, where Brittany was already sprawled out across the loveseat. "Brittany, honey, sit up. Our guests are here."

"I'm pregnant, mom. I take up lots of space now." She glanced up at Sam, who was standing stiffly above her. "Wanna sit under my legs?"

"Uh ... okay." She lifted them up and dropped them heavily back down as soon as Sam was seated.

The women sat on opposite ends of the couch that was perpendicular to the loveseat, Mrs. Pierce on the side near Brittany's head. Mr. Pierce came in with a plate of cookies, which he offered around. Brittany took one and ate it right away; Mrs. Evans took one but just held onto it. Mr. Pierce sat in a recliner that was angled to face both the loveseat and the couch.

"It's so nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Evans," Brittany's mother said.

"Please call me Mary. And it's nice to meet you too. I have to say, though, that I always hoped never to have to meet a girl's parents under these circumstances." The Pierces murmured their agreement with the sentiment.

"So, Mary," Brittany's mom said, "you live in Kentucky, is that right? What do you do there?"

"I'm an administrative assistant," she said with a forced smile.

"Cool," Brittany said. "Even the name administrates."

Mary studied Brittany, trying to make sense of the statement. No one else bothered.

"Well, I'm a hair stylist. So if you want a touch-up or anything while you're in town ..." Sam's mother touched her hair, and Mrs. Pierce hastened to add, "Oh, I'm not implying that you need one! And Mark is a police officer, but don't call him if you see a crime. Nine-one-one is much quicker."

Holy ... Sam had broken into a cop's house!? A cop whose daughter he had impregnated!? How the fuck was he still alive? He glanced nervously at Mr. Pierce, who was glaring at him, and who held up the plate of cookies again and asked flatly, "Sure you don't want a snickerdoodle, Sam?" Sam shook his head vigorously.

"Brittany ... honey ..." Sam's mom said, sitting forward in her seat. "Sam told me you're having trouble deciding what to do. And that's completely understandable. But, you know, there isn't that much time, especially with a wedding to plan ..."

"We've told Brittany she doesn't have to get married," Brittany's mother said.

"Linda ... May I call you Linda?" She waited until Mrs. Pierce nodded before she continued. "I know that lots of young women have children without being married, and there's not that much stigma about it anymore. And that's great—I don't think single mothers should be stigmatized. But, I also don't think ... when the father _wants_ to step up and do the right thing and the girl turns him down ... I really don't think these girls have any idea how hard raising a baby on your own is."

Brittany, still lying on her back on the couch, didn't look at anyone in particular when she said, "But if I marry Santana I won't be on my own."

Mary shook her head. "Teen marriages are hard. I'd never want Sam to get married so young if it weren't for ... this situation. And so to say you're going to get married at age nineteen to someone who isn't even related to the baby? And expect that to last? And you'd have to move away from your family—Ohio doesn't recognize gay marriage."

"Lesbian," Brittany said.

"But you just said it, Mary," Linda said. "Teen marriages are hard. Especially with a baby—whether both spouses are related to the baby or not. If they rush into a marriage now, chances are it won't last."

"You're right, it's not a guarantee. But the chances are better than—Sam, I'm not saying this to insult you. You're a good kid and you want to do the right thing. But, Brittany, the chances of not ending up doing it all by yourself are a lot better if you're married to the baby's father than if he just _says_ he'll stick around."

"Thanks for the confidence in me, mom."

"I was confident that you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place! Look how well that worked out."

Sam shut up and looked down at Brittany's sweatpants-covered legs.

"Mrs. Evans makes a good point, Linda," Brittany's dad said. He still had his eyes on Sam.

"Brittany, can I tell you a story?" Sam's mom asked.

Brittany rolled onto her side and Mrs. Evans moved so she was sitting on the floor in front of the loveseat. "I love stories," Brittany said.

"Once upon a time there was a girl a little younger than you are now."

"How much younger?"

"She was seventeen. A senior in high school."

"What was her name?"

"Her name was Mary." Sam's mom glanced at him and then back to Brittany. "Mary had a boyfriend she was in love with. She and her boyfriend—"

"What was the boyfriend's name?"

Sam watched his mother carefully. He had heard this story many times, of course, but she had always refused to tell him the boyfriend's name. He didn't matter anymore, she always said. Sam wondered how she'd answer Brittany.

"His name's not important," Mrs. Evans said.

"Of course it is. You can't have a story where the people don't have names."

"Fine. We'll call him ... Rudiger. Mary and Rudiger were in love and they had sex. Rudiger said sex felt better without condoms and Mary didn't insist every single time. Mary got pregnant. Rudiger felt that getting married just because they were expecting a baby together was old-fashioned. They didn't need to be married because he'd always be there for her and the baby without a 'piece of paper.' And the baby was born, and Mary—"

"What was her name?"

"Mary."

"No, the baby's."

"The baby was a boy. His name was Sam."

"Like you," Brittany said, smiling at Sam.

"Exactly like me," Sam agreed.

"Anyway," Mary continued, "Mary managed to graduate from high school with a lot of help from her parents and a little help from Rudiger. And that summer Rudiger stopped by once in a while to play with the baby. But he didn't like it when the baby cried, and he didn't like it when the baby pooped, and you know babies cry and poop a lot, and Rudiger said it was very stressful for him and that wasn't how he wanted to spend his last summer vacation before college. Because it wouldn't really be fair, would it, for Rudiger to have to give up his dream of going to college out of state? And besides, didn't Mary see that he could be a much better father for little Sam if he got a degree? Mary did see that. But ... there was this baby to take care of, this baby that cried and pooped and ate and slept, but never when Mary wanted him to, or when she needed to sleep, and ... well, they couldn't _both_ go off to college, Mary and Rudiger, and they couldn't _both _spend their last summer vacation at the beach with their friends. So Rudiger went off to college, and of course he couldn't send child support payments because he was a poor, starving student, and meanwhile Mary's parents weren't crazy about supporting her _and _the baby who kept everyone awake every night, and they started hinting that it might be a good idea to start looking for an apartment—"

"We would never kick Brittany out," Linda said.

"Rudiger visited at Thanksgiving that first year he was in college. Mary never saw him after that. He went on to become a ... He went on to make a decent salary, but somehow he always had so many 'obligations' that he never had much to send Mary for her expenses for Sam. And then he got married and had his 'own' family ... Do you see what I'm getting at here, Brittany?"

"What happened to Mary?"

"She got married eventually. To a wonderful man who treated Sam like his own son. But she didn't meet him until the baby and toddler years were over, and those years were hell. And she never went to college, so her career choices were pretty limited."

Brittany sat up and opened her eyes wide. "Do you think what happened to Mary could happen to me?"

"I'm not 'Rudiger,'" Sam said.

"Of course you're not, honey," Mary said. "I raised you better than that."

Sam and his mother stayed until close to midnight. Brittany dozed off a couple times on the couch. Nothing was resolved.

When they walked out to the car, Sam asked his mom, "'Rudiger'?"

"It's from _The_ _Simpsons_. A fake name Bart gave once, in an episode I remember watching with my Rudiger. It was a good one, we laughed like crazy at it."

Sam was just getting into the car when Brittany came out and stood on the porch. He walked back to talk to her.

"I don't want to have to drop out of college," she said. "If we get married would you move to Boston with me?"

"If Santana won't live with us."

"Then I accept."


	18. Chapter 18

Sam couldn't sleep. Brittany was too tired to keep talking after she accepted his proposal, so he and his mother had gone straight home. His mom fell asleep right away. She was exhausted from the long day they'd had but happy with the outcome. Sam was happy too, he guessed. That is, he knew it was the best thing. He just couldn't stop thinking about Blaine.

He decided he needed to see Blaine right away—even though it was the middle of the night and he knew it was a huge dick move to wake someone up to break up with them. Maybe it would be justified if the person had done something to deserve the break-up, but that clearly wasn't the case with Blaine.

But ... well, he couldn't even think of a way to justify it to himself. He just needed to see him. He crept out of the house, being careful not to wake his mother or Carole, and drove over to Blaine's.

He parked on the street and looked at Blaine's mostly-dark house. No, he really should let Blaine sleep. Unless ... He sent a text: "You up?" If he didn't get a response within two minutes he would drive away. But Blaine texted back immediately: "Yeah. Can't sleep." "I'm outside your house," Sam wrote back.

Blaine walked out the front door less than a minute later, wearing dark blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He got in the car and sat in the passenger seat. He started to lean in for a kiss but then took Sam's hand instead. "So did your mom go home already?" he asked.

"Not till morning. She's asleep."

"Oh. So ..."

"Can we just sit here for a minute? Before I tell you?"

"So it's bad?" Blaine whispered.

Sam just closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest, still holding onto Blaine's hand.

"Sam. Just tell me."

"Have you sent in your NYADA acceptance yet?" Sam asked, opening his eyes and looking at Blaine.

"No."

"Today's the deadline, right? You better get it in."

"Why?" Blaine asked. He knew, he knew that Sam was breaking up with him. But he needed to hear him say it. If he had to know it, then he wanted Sam to have to say it.

"Because it's your dream school, and you've always—"

"Why?"

Sam looked away, out the window. But it didn't matter, he could see Blaine looking at his reflection. "Because Brittany accepted. We're engaged."

"So you're breaking up with me." Blaine's eyes were red, but somehow he wasn't crying. Not yet.

"Of course I'm breaking up with you! I can't go out with you while I'm engaged to someone else."

"You lied to me then," Blaine said. His voice was quavering, but he still wasn't exactly crying.

Sam turned to look at him directly. "When did I lie to you?"

"You promised me ... on our first date, you promised me you would never propose to Brittany."

Sam had completely forgotten that. It was just a throwaway statement at the time. He had never dreamed that he would have any reason to propose to Brittany. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to do this," Blaine said. He was crying now; he knew he wouldn't be able to speak at all for much longer. "Lots of people raise children together without being married, without even being a couple."

Sam shook his head. "I couldn't ... I do have to. I'm—"

Blaine got out of the car suddenly and slammed the door behind him. He could not listen to Sam apologize again if it wasn't going to change anything. He walked toward the house, turned, and walked back to the car. He opened the passenger door and said, "Don't you dare ask me to be your best man" before slamming it again and running into the house.

XOXOXO

Tina stopped at Blaine's locker before first period. "You look terrible," she said. He did, too. His face was pale and his hair was poorly gelled—there were strands sticking out everywhere. Tina tried to smooth them down with her hand.

"They're getting married," Blaine said expressionlessly. "But you probably already knew that."

"No! Oh Blaine, I'm so sorry!" She tried to hug him but he just stood there stiffly.

"It's okay," Blaine said. "Or, I mean, it's not. But I cried so long that now I'm just numb." He closed his locker and started walking Tina to her first class.

"Do you wanna go to prom with me?" she asked. "I can totally cancel my date."

"Prom?" He had completely forgotten prom was coming up. "When ...?"

"Uh, it's tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!?" How the hell was that possible? He glanced around the halls and, sure enough, there were posters up about it, campaign posters for prom king and queen, the whole deal. "Wait, your date?" He'd been a terrible friend, obviously, because he didn't even know who Tina was going with. He didn't know she had a date at all until a few seconds ago.

"It's no big deal," Tina said.

"Sure it is. Anyway, I'd much rather talk about your love life than mine. So tell me about him. Or is it a girl?"

"No, it's a guy. It's just a pity date. Finn asked me so I wouldn't have to go alone, but he's sort of our teacher now so I thought it would be weird. So he made Puck ask me."

"No one _makes_ Puck do anything. If he asked you it's because he wanted to."

Tina shrugged. "It's still a pity date. I'd rather go with you ... if it would help."

"No. I appreciate it, I really do. I just don't think I could stand to go at all."

"Oh!" Tina looked like she wanted to say something else, but whatever it was, she didn't say it. And soon they were at her classroom, so she just gave his hair another quick straightening and said, "See you in glee."

Glee! Shit, that's what she was about to say. The New Directions were the entertainment at prom again. He _couldn't_ not go to prom, not without screwing everyone over. And all the songs he was performing in were ones Sam was performing in too. They'd planned it that way so they'd be off stage at the same time so they could dance together. Fucking brilliant.

XOXOXO

Finn pulled Sam into Mr. Schue's office before glee. "How are you doing, man?" he asked.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Great. Hey, congratulate me. I got engaged."

Finn gave him a half smile. "Congratulations. How are you really?"

"No, really. I'm great. I mean, Blaine hates me and with good cause. I hate myself for what I did to him, and I'm already miserable without him, but at least I deserve to be miserable, unlike Blaine who just deserves to be happy. But other than that I'm great."

"That doesn't sound so great."

"Well, but I'm gonna be a dad. That is great, right? The timing really, really sucks, but that's not the baby's fault. The baby's gonna be ... I mean, I love her already."

"Yeah," Finn said. "I remember feeling that way too. You know, if you ever want someone to talk to ... I kind of went through the same thing."

"Except your baby wasn't really yours."

"Yeah," Finn said. "Exactly."

Sam stared at him hard. "Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

Finn raised his hands innocently. "I'm not implying anything. I'm, maybe, wondering about the possibility ..."

"Well stop wondering. Brittany may ... have a lot of experience, but she's not a cheater and she's not a liar. And I won't let you insult my fiancée, dude."

"No. I would never. I apologize for even wondering."

Sam studied him, trying to gauge whether he was being sarcastic or ironic or whatever. He decided he wasn't and said, "Apology accepted."

"How is Brittany? Does she need anything?"

"She could use some maternity clothes. She has like one outfit that fits and it's getting kinda nasty."

"I wonder if Quinn kept any of hers," Finn said. "Have you guys talked to her?"

"No. I mean, I haven't anyway."

"That's weird. I thought she would have called right away."

"Well, maybe she's talked to Brittany. She'd be more likely to call her than me, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess." Finn took out his phone and started typing a text.

"What are you doing, dude?" Sam asked.

"Just checking in with Quinn. I still think it's weird."

XOXOXO

"Tina? Could I have this dance?"

Tina looked up at Sam. "Why?"

"Uh, because this is prom? Because my ex-boyfriend hates me and my fiancée wouldn't come with me because she has nothing to wear and you and I are friends or so I thought and I just want to dance?"

"I don't know if I _can_ be friends with you and Blaine both."

"Come on, Tina. I know things are weird, but they're not _that_ weird, are they?"

Tina got up reluctantly and followed him out to the dance floor. He led her in a slow dance, and even though they weren't dancing too close, it was pretty uncomfortable. "How is he?" Sam asked after a minute.

"I knew you had an ulterior motive," Tina said.

"Okay, you got me. I just wanna know how he is."

"I'm not gonna do this, Sam. If you wanna know how he is, ask him. If he won't talk to you, just look at him. How does he look like he is?"

Sam looked. "He looks miserable," he said, spinning her around.

"Well there you go, then."

They danced quietly for a while before Sam asked, "Will you tell him how sorry I am?"

"No," Tina said. "I'm not carrying messages between you guys, and I'm not reporting on you to each other." She looked in Sam's eyes—he was close to tears—and sighed. "Besides, I think he knows."

Puck walked over and tapped Sam on the shoulder. "Can I cut in?"

"Uh, are you even allowed to cut in to dance with your own date?" Sam asked.

"No, man, I mean with you."

"You wanna dance with _me_?" Sam said.

"Why not? You're already out at this school, right?"

"Yeah, but ... I mean, you're not. Are you actually ...?"

"Nah," Puck said. "I just wanna talk to you."

"Well let's just talk then. Without the dancing." He looked at Tina. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she said, walking off without looking back at either of them.

Puck led Sam out of the gym into the hallway. "Look, man, I just wanted to tell you that ... I mean, if you need anything ... I mean, I'd say if you need to talk but that sounds kinda gay ..."

"Dude," Sam said, "you just asked me to dance in front of the whole school, and now you're worried that offering to talk to me sounds gay?"

"Yeah." Puck laughed. "Good point. Go ahead and hit me up any time you wanna talk."

"Thanks, man."

"Yeah. Cause I know what you're going through—"

"You don't, though. You're trying to be helpful and I appreciate it, and you _sort of_ know, but you didn't marry Quinn, and you didn't even keep your baby."

Puck tensed up.

"I'm sorry, man. I was out of line to say that."

"No, but you're right," Puck said. "I really admire what you're doing—and I know a lot of people are probably telling you you're too young, or whatever—but I'm not sorry about what Quinn and I did. I mean, it was all Quinn's decision, but I'm still not sorry. Sometimes I wish I could've been a real dad to Beth, but she's better off with Shelby than she would've been with me and Quinn."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah. Of course." Puck punched him playfully in the shoulder. "Anyway, I'm gonna go dance with my date. You going back in?"

"I guess so. Not much to do out here in the hall."

They went back into the gym, and Sam looked around until he spotted Blaine, sitting down at an empty table with his fourth glass of punch. Pretending there was alcohol in it wasn't helping much. Jake made his way through the crowd and sat next to him. "How are you doing, dude?"

Everyone had been asking him that, and honestly, Blaine didn't mind the opportunity to revel in a little self-pity. "This is it, you know. My last chance at a nice, normal prom, which obviously I'm never going to have now."

"What happened at your junior prom last year?"

"It wasn't my junior prom, it was Kurt's senior one. Brittany outlawed hair gel."

Jake waited until it was clear that was it. "Seriously? That's the big tragedy that ruined prom for you?"

"You haven't seen my hair without gel," Blaine said. Then he realized he sounded ridiculous, and he actually laughed a little. "You're right though. If I'd realized _that_ prom was going to be the highlight of my high school social life I wouldn't have cared about my hair."

"Prom sucks for everyone, though," Jake said. "Anyone who says it's supposed to be the most magical, romantic night of your life is either lying or delusional."

"It doesn't have to suck for you, though. You don't have to sit here with me bringing you down. Go dance with Marley."

"Nah, I'm only a sophomore, this isn't really my prom. I'm just here as part of the entertainment." Jake took the glass out of Blaine's hand and took a sip from it. "Damn, not spiked. Besides, me and Marley broke up."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot about that." Blaine looked up and saw Sam watching him from across the room. He quickly looked away, back to Jake. Jake was looking somewhere else, and Blaine followed his eyes to see he and Ryder were looking at each other. "You should dance with _him_," Blaine said.

Jake quickly looked down at the table, then at Blaine. "Who?"

"Ryder. You should dance with him."

"I think ..." Jake said, glancing all around the room, everywhere except where Ryder was, "I think it's time for your next song."

He was right, damn it. Why—_why_—had they decided to do "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" at prom? Oh, right. Because it was a fun song to dance to and he and Sam still liked each other when it was selected.

That wasn't fair, though. He still liked Sam. He was still in love with him, in fact. That was the problem. And even though Sam was being a total dumbass, Blaine knew he was doing what he thought was right.

Blaine waited at the edge of the stage while Kitty and Artie were finishing their slow-dance number. Some stupid, sappy love song—he tried to block it out. Sam walked up and stood next to him. "Blaine—"

"I'm sorry, Sam, I can't talk to you," Blaine said, keeping his eyes on the stage. "We can talk all you want tomorrow, but if I'm gonna get through tonight, I can't talk to you."

Sam didn't respond; out of the corner of his eye Blaine could see that he was nodding.

When it was time, they got on stage and starting singing their song. It was a lackluster performance, to say the least. The sad thing was that no one seemed to mind or even notice. Kids were dancing and having fun; they didn't care that the guys who were there to entertain them were just forcing themselves to go through the motions.

They did notice, however, when Santana, dressed in pajamas and with her hair in loose braids, stormed onto the stage mid-song and pulled Sam off by his hair.


	19. Chapter 19

"Ow! Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!" Being dragged through a gym by your hair really fucking hurts. Santana didn't let go until they were out in the hall. "Fuck!" Sam held his head.

"What the fuck, Santana?" Puck hadn't managed to make her let go of Sam's hair in the gym, but now he was standing between the two of them. A crowd gathered around them.

Santana tried unsuccessfully to maneuver around Puck while yelling, "¡No te mereces a Brittany, pinche güero de rancho!"

Without looking at Sam, which might have given Santana an opening, Puck asked, "Did you understand any of that?"

"I think she's pissed off," Sam said.

"And let me tell you why I'm pissed off," Santana said, addressing Puck and poking him in the chest. "He left my girl at home—by _herself _—so he could go to _prom_. _My_ girl, who for some insane reason thinks she is his fiancée. Anyone who can leave his quote-unquote fiancée at home alone while he goes to prom without her ..." she reached around Puck and tried to poke Sam but missed "... is a douche who doesn't deserve to live."

"I tried to get her to come with me!" Sam said.

"Brittany's not your girl," Puck added softly.

"She would be if she had any sense," Santana said.

Puck looked around at the gawking crowd. "What the fuck are you jerkoffs looking at? Shouldn't you be bunnyhopping in the gym or something?" Some of the kids left, but he didn't wait for them all to go; he pulled Sam and Santana into an empty classroom.

Santana had calmed down enough that she wasn't trying to physically attack Sam anymore—not that he wanted to tempt her by getting too close or letting his guard down. "If she was my girl I would be _with_ her tonight. Instead you know what I've been doing?"

"Acting batshit crazy at your former high school's prom?" Puck said.

"Before that, dumbass. Brittany told me she didn't want me, she wanted Froggy Lips. I tried to make her see why that's crazy but she wouldn't fucking listen. So fine. I respected her decision. At least for now. I could have tried to interfere with her prom date—I stupidly _assumed_ you wouldn't go without her—but I didn't. I was having a 'girls night in' with my _mom_ when Quinn called and told me she was over at Britt's. And Britt was crying because you left her alone."

"She's crying? She told me she had nothing to wear and I offered to take her dress shopping and she said she didn't even want to go!"

"Then why didn't you stay in with her?"

"Wait," Puck said. "Quinn?"

"I had to sing, that's the only reason I came. But I didn't think she was upset, she seemed fine."

"How could she be fine?"

"I'm going to see her right now," Sam said. "Puck, I'm supposed to sing on three more songs. Could you fill in for me?"

"What? You think I just happen to know the words to the songs you were going to sing, and not only that but that I somehow know which parts are yours?"

"Oh ..." Sam said. He hadn't actually thought of that ...

"Nah, I'm just kidding, man. Of course I do! Go on."

"Thanks, man. You actually had me going for a minute."

Sam drove straight to Brittany's. He didn't tell anyone he was leaving; there was no one at prom who would have cared, anyway.

Quinn answered the door, and she was laughing. "Sam!" she gave him a big hug and pulled him inside. Then she looked at him sternly and said, "Remember when I warned you this could happen? Now do you see why I never let you get past second base with me."

"Past? I don't know who you're thinking of—I'm pretty sure I never even got to first."

"Very funny," Quinn said. Sam hadn't been joking at all. "How was the prom? It's not over already, is it?"

"No ..." He took a couple steps toward the living room. "I came to see Brittany."

"Obviously. You didn't even know I was here."

"I did, actually. Santana—"

"Sam!" Brittany had spotted him from the same loveseat she'd been on the last time he was here. In the same position. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry I left you alone while I went to prom."

Brittany looked confused. "I'm not alone. Quinn is here."

"Right. But Quinn told Santana you were crying because I went to prom without you."

"Was I crying, Quinn?" Brittany asked. "I don't think I was."

"Santana told you that?" Quinn asked Sam. "And you believed her?"

"Damn it!" Sam almost kicked the door, but the image of Brittany's dad seeing him do it stopped him. "Wait, did you even call Santana then? Because she knew you were here ..."

"Yeah, I called her, but only because I was hoping ..." Quinn lowered her voice. "I was hoping she could come over and translate Brittany-speak for me. She hung up on me though."

"Sam ..." Brittany said. She didn't make any move to get up, so he went over and sat on the floor near the loveseat. "Go back to the prom."

"You're not sad?"

"No. Quinn was telling me about ... well, you tell him, Quinn."

"Oh, I was just telling her about a conversation I had with Coach Sylvester about ... um, pregnancy stuff." She and Brittany both started laughing. "Sorry. You probably don't want to hear it."

Sam was pretty sure he was supposed to object, say that of course he wanted to hear it, but he really didn't. Not that he was squeamish about pregnancy stuff—well, not that much—but pregnancy stuff with respect to Sue Sylvester? Yeah, he could do without hearing that. Instead he said, "I never should have gone without you."

"Sam, I had a senior prom. This is yours. You should go back."

"Yeah, well ... my senior prom sucks. If you don't need me here I'm just gonna go home."

"You can stay if you _want _to," Brittany said. "You don't mind, do you, Quinn?"

"No, not at all. I promise I won't even talk about Sue's consti—I won't talk about Sue."

Back at prom, Blaine was getting ready for his next song. It was supposed to be his and Sam's song, but Sam was nowhere to be seen, and it was better this way anyway. "Faithfully" didn't really need two vocalists, and it would have been excruciating to sing it with Sam. He would have done it, of course; if he was going to be a professional he had to learn to not let his personal life get in the way. But it was a relief not to have to, in this case.

So it surprised him when Puck walked up behind him, slapped him on the back, and said, "I'm standing in for Sam. What are we singing?"

Blaine told him he didn't have to, but Puck insisted. So they both went on, and it felt very strange. They couldn't exactly sing to each other, and Blaine found himself looking at Tina most of the time. And he realized that Puck, too, seemed to be singing to Tina, which sort of made sense since he didn't have anyone in particular to sing it to either and Tina was his date. Blaine just hoped they weren't both inadvertently messing with Tina's head. And worrying about Tina helped him not think about Sam, so he made it through the whole song without breaking down. Not to mention that no one was pulled off the stage that time.

He wanted to talk to her after their song, but Puck got to her first and asked her to dance. So he left the two of them alone; they seemed to be having a good enough time, and Tina didn't look like she was reading too much into anything. He was on his way to get another glass of punch—because maybe _now_ it would be spiked—when he was pulled onto the dance floor.

"Come dance with Unique, baby. No one can stand to see you mope around anymore."

When he finished his dance with Unique, Marley asked him to dance, and then Tina and then Kitty and then Sugar and then Unique again. It was like the girls had worked out a schedule to keep him busy for every song that he wasn't performing. In fact, it wasn't _like_ they had worked out a schedule; he was pretty sure they had actually done exactly that. And it was nice, he appreciated it. So much that he went along with it, even though he really didn't feel like dancing that much.

Sam, meanwhile, hung his suit jacket on the back of the recliner and was taking his shoes off and getting comfortable on Brittany's couch while Quinn was getting them all something to drink from the kitchen. When she returned and handed out glasses of lemonade he asked how long she'd been back in town.

"About an hour," she said. "I didn't hear the news until I was at the airport this afternoon to come home. I haven't even been to my house yet, I asked my mother to bring me straight here instead."

"How did you not hear until today?" Sam asked. "I thought Rachel called everyone right away."

Quinn settled next to him on the couch. "She did. I was taking finals—_Yale_ finals, which are nothing like McKinley finals—and no offense, but I couldn't afford to be distracted every time one of you guys had a little high school crisis. So after Blaine called in a panic about which college he should go to, I set my phone to send all my nonessential calls straight to voicemail."

Sam patted her shoulder. "Thanks, Quinn. You mean a lot to us too."

"Oh, give me a break. If I'd known it was important I would've answered. I would have tried to talk some sense into you both. I'm just glad you didn't rush off and have a quickie wedding already, so there's still time."

"Oh God." Sam closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the couch. "Maybe we should have a quickie wedding just so people will stop trying to talk us out of it."

Quinn leaned forward. "Just listen to me. You too, Britt." She waited until they were both looking at her. "You can't get married. Even if you guys were planning on getting married and having kids together some day anyway, now would be too soon. But you weren't, were you? Even before you broke up?"

Sam said, "No, but—"

"I don't even want kids at all," Brittany said.

They were all silent for a minute. Sam couldn't believe ... he knew this wasn't what either of them wanted, not now, not with each other, but ... did Brittany really not want a child at all? Ever?

"Then don't do this," Quinn said.

"It's not that easy, Quinn," Sam said. "There's a baby, she's there already, she going to be born in a few months. She needs a family."

"Yeah. She needs a family." Quinn looked at both of them. "Do I really have to tell you the obvious solution that somehow no one seems to have even considered?"

Brittany and Sam watched her, waiting to be enlightened. Before Quinn could tell them the supposedly obvious solution, though, the front door opened and Brittany's family came inside. Her mother called, "Brittany, honey, we brought you some—Oh! You have company. Quinn! How are you? How are you liking Harvard?"

"Yale," Quinn said.

"Oh, that's great," Mrs. Pierce said. "Sam, nice to see you again."

"Sam's here!?" It was the voice of Brittany's little sister Ashley, followed by the rest of her. "Hi Sam," she said shyly. "Or should I say brother?"

"Hey, Ash! So did you have a big date tonight, or ...?" He was only joking around, of course. Ashley was only thirteen.

"No!" She giggled and blushed. "I went to a movie. With my mom and dad!" She sat between Sam and Quinn. "Are you guys talking about names for the baby? Because I have the perfect one: Sulpicia."

"The baby's name is Brittana," Brittany said.

Sam shook his head. "She's not going to be named Brittana. If anything she should be Bram."

"No granddaughter of mine is going to be named after Dracula," Brittany's dad said, walking into the living room. He looked at the suit jacket on the back of his recliner. Sam hopped up and moved it onto the couch.

"No, dad," Brittany said. "Dracula's first name is the The Count. Bram is a mix of Brittany and Sam. You know. Br- from Brittany; -am from Sam."

"That's dumb. By that logic you girls should be named Lark and Minda."

Brittany sat up. "Minda sounds perfect!"

Sam said, "I kind of like Lark."

"No! Minda and Lark are examples of stupid non-names. You have to give that little girl a normal name," Mr. Pierce said.

"You don't have to give her a name at all," Quinn interjected. Everyone turned to look at her.

After a minute Sam said, "We can't just call her 'kid' her whole life."

"No, I mean ... What did I name my ... What did I name the baby I gave birth to?"

"Quick?" Brittany guessed. "Pinn?"

"You named her Beth," Sam said.

"No. _Shelby_ named her Beth."

It finally dawned on Sam what Quinn was suggesting. "You want us to give her away?"

"Have you guys seriously not even thought about adoption?" Quinn asked. "It's the best decision I ever made."

"You regretted it," Sam said. "You had all those plans to get Beth back."

"I admit it wasn't easy. And I went a little crazy for a while. But Shelby has given her a better home than I could have. And I wouldn't have been able to go to Yale if I was raising a child. The same for you, Brittany. You don't really think you'll be able to go to MIT and take care of a baby at the same time, do you?"

"Sam's coming to Boston with me."

"But he's supposed to go to college here," Quinn said.

"Yeah, but ..." Sam said. "But I can go later. After Britt finishes." He knew there was a good chance he wouldn't go at all if he didn't do it right away. But ... "I don't mind making some sacrifices for little Lark."

"You're not naming her Lark." Until Brittany's dad said that Sam had sort of forgotten her parents were still there.

Quinn turned to Brittany's mom. "You don't think Brittany and Sam are ready to get married and raise a child, do you, Mrs. Pierce?"

"They're so young," she said, not really answering the question. She sat next to her daughter on the loveseat and put her arm around her shoulder. "But I've had babies. I couldn't imagine having to give a baby away to a stranger, and I couldn't tell Brittany to do it."

"But you'll support her if _she_ decides to place the baby for adoption?" Quinn asked.

"Yes. Yes, of course. It would be the best ... It would probably be the best thing for the baby. For everyone, in the long run. It would just be so hard."

"But then I wouldn't get to babysit!" Ashley said.

"Ashley, go to bed," her dad told her.

"I mean, I'm just saying ..."

Her dad just watched her until she reluctantly stood up. She gave Sam a quick hug and whispered "Good night" to him.

Sam patted her on the shoulder and said, "Good night, kiddo."

After Ashley had gone upstairs Brittany asked Quinn, "You're really glad you did it?"

Quinn nodded. "I really am."

"Does Shelby even want another baby though?"

"It doesn't have to be Shelby," Quinn explained. "There are lots of families that want to adopt. You get to choose."

Brittany didn't answer. She rested her head on her mother's shoulder.

"Britt—" Sam started, but he was cut off by Quinn asking, "If I make an appointment with an adoption counselor will come with me and talk to them?"

"Okay." She looked at her mom. "Will you come too?"

"Of course, honey," her mother said.

"And me," Sam said. He couldn't help but notice that no one had really asked what he thought. But he should have some say, shouldn't he? "I wanna go too."

"Oh," Quinn said. "Sure, if you want."


	20. Chapter 20

Santana somehow wrangled an invitation to the appointment with the adoption counselor. Not that Sam would have put it past her to just show up, but the way Brittany hugged her before they all walked into the office together told him that Santana's presence was not just tolerated but expected. Welcome, even.

The counselor met them in the lobby. "You must be Brittany," she said, having correctly identified the pregnant woman. She hugged her and said, "Welcome. I'm Carrie. I'm so glad to see you have such a great support system!"

Carrie shook everyone's hands as they introduced themselves. Sam went right after Brittany's mom, saying, "I'm Sam Evans. I'm the baby's father."

Santana went next. She wrapped her arm around Brittany and said, "Santana Lopez. Brittany's girlfriend."

Sam took Brittany's hand. "She means Brittany's friend who just happens to be a girl. I'm Brittany's fiancé."

"And yet you didn't mention that before," Santana said. "Did it just slip your mind?"

"No, but it seems to have slipped yours."

Quinn pulled Brittany away from both of them. "Could we go back to your office, Carrie?"

Carrie smiled. "Yes, of course. Right this way."

Brittany and her mother followed her, and Sam and Santana tried to but Quinn stopped them. "If you two wanna stay you're gonna have to cool it."

"Oh, who the hell put you in charge, Fabray?" Santana demanded. "Thanks for setting up this meeting and everything, but this doesn't concern you anymore."

"It concerns you even less, Santana," Sam said. "Why don't you go home and let me and Brittany figure this out in peace?"

"Let you and Brittany figure this out? That's hilarious."

"You don't seem to think very highly of the girl you claim is your girlfriend."

"Only when she's in your dimwitted presence."

"And this is why I'm in charge," Quinn said. "Because Brittany needs someone here who only cares about her and the baby. Now are you two gonna behave or am I gonna have to physically restrain you?"

Santana laughed. "Seriously? Trouty and I could both totally take you."

"Maybe," Quinn said. "But only if you teamed up. Because Sam wouldn't hit a girl, and the only way he wouldn't protect me from you if you tried anything is if you two were in cahoots."

"I'm going in there," Sam said, walking past Quinn. "You two do what you want." He entered the office, followed by Quinn and then, a minute or so later, Santana.

Carrie restarted the little speech she was giving when Sam sat down. He noticed that she did not start again for Santana, which sort of made him want to gloat, until he reminded himself to concentrate on what was important.

Quinn and Mrs. Pierce asked questions now and then. Sam was just way too overwhelmed with everything that was going on—and he wasn't sure, but he guessed that was why Brittany wasn't really saying anything either. He was pretty sure Carrie wasn't trying to be overwhelming. She didn't seem to be pressuring them to give the baby away, or even trying to talk them into it. She kept stopping to ask if they understood what she was saying and if they had questions.

"So now that you know what I do, and what services we can provide here," she said, although Sam still wasn't sure he did know either of those things, "would you like to tell me a little about your situation? Where you are right now, what you're thinking?"

"I'm pregnant," Brittany said.

"Uh huh," Carrie said encouragingly. But Brittany apparently didn't have anything to add.

Carrie was patient, though, and she was gradually able to draw Brittany out. With contributions from the rest of the group, everything eventually came out. The apocalypse, the fake wedding, the real engagement. Brittany and Santana, Sam and Blaine. MIT and Bowling Green. The doctor's visit and ultrasound. Plus lots of other stuff that wasn't especially relevant—Quinn recounted her whole story, for example. A discussion of the merits of Lark or Minda versus a name Brittany's dad would approve of.

When they walked out almost three hours later, Sam felt like things were more unsettled than ever. Not only had he and Brittany not decided anything, no one had even asked them to. He got it that Carrie didn't want to pressure them or anything, but he would have liked a little certainty. As it was, not only did he not know what Brittany wanted to do, but he wasn't sure what _he_ wanted to do or if it even mattered what he wanted. He wasn't even sure if they were still engaged.

"So, should we go get some lunch?" Quinn asked as they stood around in the parking lot. She was holding the stack of pamphlets and stuff that Carrie had given to Brittany. "You guys could look at some of these adoptive families' profiles ..."

"I need a nap," Brittany said, leaning on her mom.

"You want me to come with you?" Sam asked. He wasn't sure how that could possibly help, but he didn't feel like he could just ignore her. At least not without at least offering. But Brittany shook her head and it looked like she really was just planning on going to sleep, so he said, "I should get to school then." He'd already missed half the day.

It was lunch time when he got there, so he got some of—whatever it was the cafeteria was serving, he really didn't even care—and sat at a table with some kids he knew slightly from when he was on the swim team. He couldn't sit at his usual spot with the glee kids because Blaine was there, and he knew Blaine didn't want to see him.

He was so glad this was the last week of school. Well, he wasn't, because he didn't want it to end like this. But since it _was_ like this, he was glad at least that it was ending.

Blaine knew right where Sam was, even though he was four tables away, even though he had his back to him. Even if he hadn't seen him walk over there with his sad little tray of cafeteria food, he would have figured it out just from the way none of the other glee kids could stop stealing glances over there.

Conversation dwindled to practically nothing as the glances got more and more frequent. Blaine nudged Tina and asked her softly, "Would you go ask Sam to come over here and join us?"

"Wouldn't that make you uncomfortable?" she asked.

"Yeah, like _this_ is really comfortable," Blaine said. Tina made a sympathetic-sounding cluck but nothing more, so he added, "Seriously. I feel like an asshole."

"Aw, no one thinks you're an asshole, Blainey-Boo." She stood and gave him an awkward neck hug that had him almost choking for a second. "But if it'll make you happy ..." Blaine made himself not turn around and watch as she walked over to Sam's table.

A couple minutes later she was back, sitting down without saying anything. "Well?" he asked.

"He said no, thank you."

"Oh, for ..." Blaine marched over to Sam's table to tell him to grow the hell up already. But when he saw him staring desolately at his lunch tray, like he was about to cry, he lost all traces of his earlier annoyance.

"Hey, Sam," he said gently, standing next to the table.

"Hey, Blaine." Sam looked up and tried to smile politely.

"You wanna ... You look like you could use someone to talk to."

"Yeah." Sam poked his fork around in the rice on his tray. "But you're the last one who should have to—"

"No, come on. We're ... we're still friends, right?"

"If you're still willing to be my friend ..." Sam looked up at him earnestly "... that would really mean a lot to me."

Blaine fought the urge to kiss the top of his head. Even trying to hug him seemed like it would be inappropriate or at least a bad idea. He did take him by the hand, though, and pull him out to the parking lot. Sam didn't resist.

He didn't know why he'd picked the parking lot. He didn't want to drive them anywhere, and it was too warm and sunny to make sitting in the car seem like a good idea once they got there. So they just leaned against the doors, squinting into the sun rather than looking at each other.

"So ... I guess Santana's dramatic entrance at prom gave everyone something to talk about," Sam said.

"She wasn't subtle," Blaine agreed. "Puck told me later what she said. Was Brittany okay?"

"Santana was the one who was upset. Brittany was fine."

"Good," Blaine said. "You know I still can't believe ... No, never mind. Sorry. I'm glad she's okay."

"You still can't believe we're getting married?"

"It's okay, I accept it. I shouldn't—"

"I'm not even sure if we are now."

"Oh?" Blaine asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. It was nothing to him anymore. Well, except that he still thought it was a bad idea and Sam and Brittany were his friends.

"We were ... Quinn was there and ... We went and saw an adoption counselor this morning."

"Oh! That sounds ..." He only cared what was best for Sam and Brittany and the baby. It didn't mean anything to him personally; he and Sam weren't together anymore. And even with that in mind ... "That sounds like a really good idea."

Sam shrugged.

"You don't think so?" Blaine asked.

"I don't know. I don't know! Everything was settled and now it's not and I just ... I just wanna know what to do. I knew and now I don't and it sucks."

"Yeah. But ..." He glanced at Sam, who was still looking straight ahead. "But I mean you wouldn't actually go through with a marriage and with raising a child together just to avoid having to consider other options. Right?"

"No. No, of course not."

"And there are lots of couples who are older ... I mean not _old_ but not teenagers ... and more settled ..." Blaine almost added "... and who got married because they were in love and not because they thought they had to." But he didn't.

"Yeah," Sam said. And he was quiet for a while, they both were, until the warning bell rang and they started walking back toward the school. "Brittany doesn't even want kids. Like, at all. Ever."

"Really? Well, then, all the more reason—"

"But _I _do!"

They took a few steps in silence before Blaine responded, "Then you should have one. Or a bunch. But you don't have to do it now. You're eighteen. When you're, like, thirty and you're with someone who also wants kids ..."

"What makes you think I'll be with someone when I'm thirty? I haven't exactly been lucky in love."

"I'm trying to help you here, Sam," Blaine snapped. "Don't make me remind you that you're the one who ..."

"Right. Sorry."

"You'll be with some perfectly lovely woman when you're thirty or thirty-one or thirty-four and you'll both be ready and you'll fuck her and fuck her and fuck her ..." Blaine could not believe what he was saying, but he also couldn't make himself stop "... and boom, magic baby nine months later." They walked in through the cafeteria door, or rather, Blaine walked in and realized Sam hadn't followed him. He stepped back outside and added, "Whereas when my perfectly lovely husband and I decide we're both ready for our first baby, we'll have to hope like hell that some teenagers who fucked up have the good sense to place their baby for adoption."

Blaine walked back into the building without waiting for a response. Sam caught up with him, took his wrist, and stopped, forcing Blaine to stop too. "So I guess that means ..." Sam started. Blaine pulled his wrist away but didn't leave, so Sam continued, "If I don't marry Brittany ... even if we put the baby up for adoption and call off the wedding ... it won't matter? You won't take me back?"

"Don't ask me that, Sam. Just don't even ..." He started to walk down the hall. "You don't get to ask me that," he added, still walking away, not turning around. He wasn't even sure if Sam could hear him, but he was kind of yelling, so probably. "You didn't take me into account _at all_ when you decided to propose, so don't ... Just don't." He turned a corner and continued, alone, to his next class.


End file.
